


The World You Want

by enigmaticblue



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brainwashing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 10:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 62,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2225118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony knows he’s facing a losing battle—the military wants his suit, and they’ll go to any lengths to get it. But SHIELD offers him a deal: they’ll give Tony their protection if he can get Bruce Banner out of the Army’s hands. But that’s only the beginning, because between the two of them, Tony figures they can remake the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Business of Rust

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the scifibigbang of 2014, and fills the hurt/comfort prompt on my trope_bingo card, and the extortion prompt for my hc_bingo card. Title from the Switchfoot song of the same name. Some dialog taken from the comic Road to Marvel’s Avengers. 
> 
> Many thanks to my artist, Carrot, for her wonderful artwork, which can be found [here](http://little-miss-carrot.tumblr.com/post/96086126715/graphics-for-the-story-the-world-you-want-by) and [here](http://little-miss-carrot.tumblr.com/post/96086126754/banner-for-the-story-the-world-you-want-by). Go check it out and leave her some love.
> 
> Also, be advised that this fic includes fairly graphic descriptions of mind control/brainwashing and torture. I promise, there's a lot of comfort to go along with the hurt, but be cautious if that's a trigger for you.

**Los Diablos Military Base, New Mexico, January 2006**

 

Bruce’s head feels fuzzy as he starts to come around, and when he shifts, he can feel the padded restraints around his wrists. He wants to wake all at once, to shake off the lethargy, but his mind refuses to work.

 

He feels a strap across his chest, and restraints around his ankles and another strap across his thighs, effectively immobilizing him. There’s an IV line in his right arm, and he can feel the catheters—plural.

 

That’s what scares him the most, because it suggests that he’s been there for a while, or that he _will_ be.

 

Bruce opens his eyes and immediately closes them again, the glare of the fluorescent lights too much for his aching head. He realizes that he has no idea what day it is, or how much time has passed. The last he remembers, he was testing the serum on himself, settling back into the chair, and allowing his assistant to place the electrodes on his head, and his chest.

 

And then…nothing.

 

Now, he’s here, and he has no idea where _here_ is.

 

“Ah, Dr. Banner, I see you’re awake.”

 

Bruce cracks one eye and turns his head. He doesn’t recognize the man standing here, wearing an olive green dress shirt and a darker green sweater vest under a lab coat. There’s a stethoscope hanging around his neck, and he wears a pleasant smile.

 

“Where am I?” Bruce asks.

 

“That hardly matters, Dr. Banner,” he says gently. “As you won’t be leaving.”

 

“What is this?” Bruce demands. “Why am I here?”

 

“Do you not remember?” the man replies lightly.

 

“Would I be asking you if I did?” Bruce says, wanting to feel anger or indignation, and instead just feeling numb, hollowed out, and empty.

 

The man holds out a picture, and Bruce swallows hard, recognizing Betty’s bruised and battered face immediately.

 

“She died of her injuries shortly after this picture was taken,” he says, “along with two others. Do you really not remember?”

 

Bruce swallows. “I—I was testing the serum, and I…” He trails off, because his memories are fractured after that, and then he remembers nothing at all. Nothing is clear.

 

“You have to understand that this is just a precaution, Dr. Banner,” he says gently. “We can’t take the risk that you’ll hurt anyone else, not until we understand more about your condition. I’m sure you understand.”

 

Bruce can’t help but tug against the restraints. “I don’t. I should be helping find the solution.”

 

“Relax, Dr. Banner.” The man injects something into the IV line. “Let us help you. We understand that you can’t be held responsible for those deaths, but if you were to leave now, if you killed someone else, that blood _would_ be on your hands. You know that.”

 

Bruce stills abruptly, swallowing hard. “I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

 

“We know that,” he says. “And you can trust that we won’t allow that to happen. Now, just relax. We need to draw some blood so we can get a better idea of just what happened to you, all right?”

 

Bruce doesn’t think he needs to give permission—he’s fairly certain that this man will take his blood whether he wants to give it or not.

 

“What are you going to do with me?” Bruce asks.

 

“Don’t worry,” the man replies. “We’re going to take good care of you.”

 

Bruce doesn’t believe him for a second, but there doesn’t seem to be anything he can do about it.

 

**Los Diablos Military Base, New Mexico, June 2011**

 

Tony takes a deep breath as the gate to the military base shuts with a definitive clang behind them. The driver, who had identified himself as Agent Barton, doesn’t so much as twitch in response. He has to be boiling in his black tactical gear, but he appears unfazed.

 

“Relax,” Romanoff mutters beside him. “Remember, you’re just here to consult.”

 

Tony nods minutely, and takes another deep breath. He understands _quid pro quo_ , and that he has a debt to pay.

 

He knows SHIELD is manipulating him, and that saving his life is a good way to make sure he carries out his side of the bargain, but Tony doesn’t see another way out.

 

Besides, assuming that Banner doesn’t actually want to be here, that he’d rather not make weapons of mass destruction for the Army, Tony feels honor bound to get him out.

 

“I’m just your assistant,” Romanoff says. “Clint’s your minder. Fury made an agreement with the Army that you would have someone here to watch your back.”

 

“You mean Fury bargained for insurance to make sure the Army doesn’t try to keep me here,” Tony counters.

 

Romanoff shrugs. “That too. Just remember the plan. You’ll have two weeks to gain Banner’s trust and complete the project.”

 

Tony straightens his tie as Barton pulls up in front of a long, low windowless building made of cinderblocks painted the color of sand. The parking lot is asphalt, and there’s no vegetation to be seen. As Tony climbs out of the car, he looks around and sees several other buildings of the same size and shape, and what looks like barracks in the distance.

 

It’s a depressing place, and Tony can’t imagine spending two weeks here, let alone years, and according to SHIELD, Banner has been here for nearly six.

 

Barton leads the way into the building, and Tony follows him, Romanoff walking next to him, a leather-bound folder in hand, looking like the assistant she’s pretending to be.

 

They are met immediately by a man in an Army uniform, although he’s wearing a lab coat instead of a jacket. “I’m Dr. Kimball,” he says. “You must be Mr. Stark.”

 

Kimball is nondescript in appearance—a little on the short side, with a paunch and thick-rimmed glasses, thinning blond hair, a welcoming smile and cold eyes.

 

Tony can’t put his finger on why, but he senses a threat. “Pleasure to meet you,” he replies with as much charm as he can muster. He has a part to play, and it’s important that everyone here believes he’s now SHIELD’s pet engineer.

 

“I have to say, I’m not entirely convinced of the wisdom of this decision,” Kimball says. “Dr. Banner’s mental state is rather fragile, and he prefers to work in isolation.”

 

“Dr. Banner is the foremost expert on gamma radiation, and the Army wants a gamma bomb that targets a specific location and doesn’t have a lot of fallout,” Tony replies, knowing that arrogance will help sell his role. “I’m here to make that happen.”

 

Kimball shakes his head, and begins to lead them down a featureless hallway. “I’m left without a choice, then. I’ll show you to the lab.”

 

Tony notices that there are guards every dozen feet and cameras in the ceiling. The white tile floors and white walls are broken up only by steel doors, each with a small glass window set at eye level. There are high security locks on every door with keypads and bio-print scanners. He glances at Natasha to see what she’s made of this, but her face is impassive.

 

The security is going to pose a problem to Banner’s escape, or his kidnapping. Tony still isn’t sure how SHIELD is going to prevent the Army from coming after Banner, but he supposes that possession is nine-tenths of the law in this case, particularly when the Army doesn’t actually have a legal leg to stand on in keeping him locked away.

 

Tony feels like a chess piece being moved around a board that he cannot fully see, and he hates that feeling.

 

Kimball stops at one door near the end of the hallway. He punches in a code, angling his body so that Tony can’t see the keypad, and then presses his thumb on the scanner and leans down for the retinal scan.

 

“Dr. Banner, you have visitors,” Kimball announces cheerfully. He turns to Tony. “I’ll post a guard outside the door. If you wish to leave, he can let you out. If there’s anything you need, Dr. Banner can show you how to make a request.”

 

“I’ll be right outside, sir,” Barton says.

 

Tony glances at Natasha, who asks, “Would you like me to stay?”

 

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Tony replies. “Dr. Banner and I will be fine on our own.”

 

Not until they’re alone does Tony turn to face Banner, who is standing in one corner of the room, wringing his hands together. He’s thin and pale, his hair cut close to his head, and he’s wearing oversized fatigues, although he would never be taken for a soldier. The body language is all wrong for that.

 

Tony stifles the sharp pang of pity, and instead approaches with a hand out. “Dr. Banner, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Um.” Banner stares at Tony’s hand for a moment before taking it, as though he’s out of practice. “When they said they were bringing you in to help, I didn’t believe it.”

 

Tony smiles. “They made me a deal I couldn’t refuse.”

 

“I know something about those,” Banner murmurs. “Dr. Kimball said that things aren’t going very well out there.”

 

Tony doesn’t allow the surprise to show on his face. Clearly, they’re keeping Bruce misinformed, and he wonders how many other lies they’ve fed him. He’ll have to go carefully, though, because they’re being watched.

 

“Things have been better,” Tony admits. “Which is why I’m here.”

 

“I don’t get any visitors other than Dr. Kimball,” Banner admits. “I’m sure they told you that—what I am.”

 

“You’re an expert on gamma radiation,” Tony replies. “And your work on anti-electron collisions is unparalleled. The rest of it doesn’t matter at the moment.”

 

Bruce’s mouth twists into a bitter grimace. “The rest of it always matters.”

 

“Okay, so it matters,” Tony says quietly. “Because you’re here. But right now, we’re a couple of scientists with a problem to solve. So, let’s solve it.”

 

Bruce looks away, and Tony watches him carefully, catches sight of the thick bracelet around his left wrist, a black box directly over his pulse point. “I know—I know what they asked you to do, but I don’t want to build a bomb.”

 

Tony glances up at the camera.

 

Bruce shakes his head. “There’s no sound.”

 

“You don’t know that,” Tony says.

 

And suddenly Bruce smirks, and Tony sees that there’s fight in him yet. “Actually, I do. Are you going to tell?”

 

Tony realizes that this is a test, and that Bruce is being incredibly brave. “No. That just makes my job a lot easier.”

 

**Los Diablos Military Base, New Mexico, December 2010**

 

“Merry Christmas, Dr. Banner,” Kimball says as he enters Bruce’s quarters—without announcing himself, as usual.

 

Bruce resents the lack of privacy more than anything else about his circumstances, but he doesn’t give any indication of discomfort at the intrusion.

 

Kimball has the power to make his life a living hell, and he has done so on multiple occasions, generally whenever Bruce makes a fuss about anything at all. He’s learned to play the meek scientist to the hilt, to give no indication that there’s anything more than that going on under the surface.

 

“Is it Christmas?” he asks vaguely, glancing up from the book he’s reading.

 

Kimball shakes his head. “Are you losing track of the days again? I suppose it’s to be expected with the new tranquilizer.”

 

“A small price to pay,” Bruce says quietly. “If I can avoid another incident.”

 

Kimball smiles. “I’m glad you’ve finally come around to our point of view.”

 

“I don’t want more blood on my hands,” Bruce replies. He’s careful with his body language, knowing that any sign of rebellion on his part will draw unwanted attention.

 

He needs these people to believe that he’s completely cowed, so he can get away with his small rebellions without anyone looking too close.

 

Bruce has to be on top of his game for this; he knows they’re drugging him, trying to keep him complacent and the Other Guy at bay.

 

It’s taken the Army three years to find the right drug cocktail that, when mixed with Bruce’s natural reticence to put anyone at risk, would keep the Other Guy from breaking loose, and would still allow Bruce to work. It had taken Bruce six months to adjust to the dosage so he could get past the fog in his head.

 

He’s still not operating at full capacity, but he gets by. And he’s slowly but surely coming up with ways to protect his privacy, to get real information about the outside world that’s not filtered through Kimball or the Army censors.

 

“Is there anything you would like?” Kimball asks. “It _is_ Christmas, after all.”

 

Bruce knows better than to ask for a newspaper, but he thinks he might be able to get away with a couple of science journals, and maybe some of the entertainment magazines.

 

He still makes a show of thinking about it, as though he hasn’t been hoping for an opportunity exactly like this one. “I don’t know.”

 

“Anything special to eat?” Kimball asks. “I can get takeout from somewhere.”

 

Bruce frowns. “I don’t know. Maybe Mexican?”

 

“That can be arranged,” Kimball replies, rewarding him with an approving look. “Anything else?”

 

Bruce shrugs, as though it doesn’t really matter. “I wouldn’t mind some more reading material. Science journals, magazines, whatever. Or books. Classics? Sergeant Collins has been nice enough to give me his books when he’d done with them, but it’s a lot of pulp fiction.”

 

“Of course,” Kimball says. “I must say, I’m delighted by how well you’re adjusting to this new medication.”

 

Bruce smiles vaguely. “I feel very calm with the new dosage.”

 

“That’s excellent news,” Kimball says. “I’m glad to hear it.”

 

The thing is, Bruce had figured out a while back that the Army doesn’t actually want to _help_ him. If they had, they’d offer therapy, meditation exercises, whatever it took. What they want is a pet scientist with gamma-irradiated blood, an endless supply of samples, and the means to force Bruce to do whatever they want.

 

Bruce has fought hard against their attempts to brainwash him, or drug him into submission, and it suits Bruce to let them believe they’ve succeeded.

 

He gets his reward the next day when Collins shows up with a covered dish and a plastic sack full of magazines and books.

 

“Kimball said you wanted Mexican for Christmas, doc, and it just so happens that my wife and her family make tamales Christmas Eve,” Collins says. “Better than you’re gonna get in any restaurant, and freshly heated.”

 

Bruce offers a genuine smile. “Thank you, Sergeant. I’m sure they’re delicious.”

 

“And next time you want reading material, just let me know,” Collins insists. “I mean, nothing restricted, but I can get my hands on some stuff. You know, books and magazines.”

 

Bruce is actually a little touched by that “I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble.”

 

Collins hesitates, then seems to think better of whatever he was going to say. “No trouble, doc. And if it is, I’ll just say so.”

 

The tamales are just as good as Collins had promised, and there’s rice and refried beans on the side. Bruce eats with his plastic fork and rifles through the provided reading material. He has no idea if Kimball had been the one to approve the stack, or if he’d left it to one of his assistants.

 

Bruce lets out a huff of laughter when he sees _A Tale of Two Cities_ , and _The Scarlet Pimpernel_ ; someone has a twisted sense of humor. _1984_ just confirms it. Bruce won’t credit Kimball with that kind of sneaky, subtle nose thumbing because he’s a company man through and through. That seems to indicate that he might have an ally of sorts somewhere.

 

There are a few back issues of _Scientific American_ , although a quick perusal of the tables of content shows there’s not much of interest beyond some light reading. The entertainment magazines are far more interesting.

 

Because it seems that Tony Stark is a) still Iron Man, and b) not under the Army’s thumb.

 

Bruce doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to escape, not without risking the lives of a lot of people, and there are decent people who work here and are just doing their jobs. He’d hate to hurt Collins, or whoever it is has such a dark sense of humor about the books they’ve provided.

 

But it does him good to know there’s someone out there who is bucking the trend, and following Tony Stark’s exploits is kind of a hobby at this point, even if the updates are few and far between.

 

Bruce settles back on the bed once he’s finished with his dinner and flips through the magazines, one after another, knowing that his watchers won’t see anything out of the ordinary.

 

They have no idea; if Bruce has his way, they’ll never know what’s going on below the surface.

 

**New York City, February 2011**

 

“They’re going to redouble their efforts to get the suit, you know,” Rhodey says from his position looking out the windows of Tony’s New York base of operations. He’d refused a drink, which told Tony just how serious this visit is.

 

Tony is in New York to oversee the next stage of the Stark Expo, in the Presidential suite at the St. Regis. The world might be going to hell, Tony might be on the verge of losing control of the suit, and the arc reactor might slowly be poisoning him, but at least he’s surrounded by luxury.

 

It’s less comforting than he would like, and he knows Rhodey has a point. His wealth could easily become a gilded cage.

 

Not that he’s going to give Rhodey the satisfaction of telling Rhodey that he’s right.

 

Instead, Tony gives Rhodey a sour look, sprawling on the white couch that’s more comfortable than it looks. “Let them. They have no grounds.”

 

“They don’t _need_ grounds,” Rhodey points out. “This is the Army we’re talking about.”

 

Tony snorts and throws back the rest of his drink. “Look who’s talking.”

 

Rhodey sighs. “The law—”

 

“I would sooner destroy _everything_ than let the Army use what I’ve built as a weapon,” Tony snaps. “They want to control me.”

 

Rhodey turns to face him. “I think you should talk to SHIELD.”

 

“What? So _they_ can have a superhero in their pocket?” Tony scoffs.

 

“In this case, I think SHIELD might be preferable.” Rhodey sits down next to him on the couch. “You’ve heard the rumors?”

 

Tony grimaces. “Ross’ super solider experiment run amuck? I’ve heard. I also heard that he found someone to make weapons for him.”

 

“It’s not quite that simple,” Rhodey replies. “Look, Tony, I know you want to be a lone wolf and do your own thing, but I can’t protect you. SHIELD can.”

 

“And when SHIELD asks me to make weapons for them?” Tony asks. “Or asks me to kill?”

 

Rhodey shakes his head. “They have assassins for that. Just talk to them, okay?”

 

“Tell me why,” Tony replies. “Why shouldn’t I blow up my suits, and retire to Monaco? Pepper can run Stark Industries, and the Army can be in charge of bringing about world peace.”

 

Rhodey puts his hands on Tony’s shoulders, giving him a little shake. “Because right now Ross’ star is on the rise, and he can do no wrong, and if someone doesn’t bring a little balance, he’ll set the whole world on fire.”

 

“You’re the one who’s still in the business of war,” Tony replies bitterly.

 

Rhodey smacks him upside the head, although lightly. “I’d rather be keeping the peace, asshole.”

 

Tony sighs. “Set up a meeting. I assume you know who I should talk to.”

 

“They’re on their way now,” Rhodey replies.

 

Tony pulls away from him, launching himself off the couch. “You know I hate it when people manage me.”

 

“Someone has to do it.” Rhodey sits back on the couch. “After your run-in with Ross, he’s even more anxious to get his hands on your suit.”

 

“It won’t do him much good without the arc reactor,” Tony points out.

 

Rhodey shakes his head. “I wouldn’t put it past him to yank it out of your chest and apologize later.”

 

Tony shudders, remembering how it had felt when Obadiah had done it. He’d been close to death then, between the effects of the paralyzing device and the incipient cardiac arrest, and he knows the palladium is slowly poisoning him, but Tony would prefer to remain alive as long as possible.

 

“Do you really think he could get away with murder?” Tony asks.

 

Rhodey gives him a hard look. “Do you want to find out?”

 

“Not particularly, no,” Tony replies.

 

“Then do yourself a favor and start making allies,” Rhodey replies sharply. “And for once in your life, _try_ to play nice with others.”

 

Tony pours another drink. “No promises.”

 

They don’t talk much after that. Tony sips his drink, wanting to keep his wits about him, and it’s only a short time later that there’s a sharp knock on the door.

 

“I’ll get it,” Rhodey says, and Tony can see his hand hovering near his sidearm. He’s both comforted and unsettled by the fact that Rhodey is willing to risk so much to protect him, since it brings home just how dangerous these waters are.

 

A woman enters first, her red hair bright. She’s in a dark pantsuit, and while she’s not obviously armed, Tony knows better than to assume she isn’t. The man behind her is tall and imposing, wearing an eye patch and dressed in all black, with a long leather coat that sweeps the floor.

 

“Director Fury, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” Rhodey says, holding out a hand.

 

“Likewise, Colonel,” he rumbles, turning his attention to Tony. “Stark.”

 

Tony stiffens. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”

 

“Tony, this is Nick Fury, the director of SHIELD,” Rhodey says.

 

“And my associate, Natasha Romanoff,” Fury adds.

 

Romanoff nods curtly and takes a position by the door.

 

Fury walks in like he owns the place and takes a seat on the couch, one arm slung over the back. “As I see it, Mr. Stark, you have two problems.”

 

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Only two?”

 

“Number one, Ross wants your armor, and he wants the arc reactor, and he’s not going to let anything get in his way,” Fury says. “I’ve been reliably informed that he doesn’t care if it’s over your dead body. And if he gets results, no one else is going to care if he leaves behind a corpse.”

 

Tony can’t argue, since Ross has already left behind a string of bodies. “But you can protect me,” he states, his tone dubious.

 

“I’ll be frank,” Fury replies. “If SHIELD could get the same results Ross and his cohorts can, we might be able to push back against him.”

 

Tony takes a deep breath. “I won’t make weapons.”

 

“There are a lot of things that get the job done that won’t require you to make weapons,” Fury replies.

 

Tony hesitates, but he knows Rhodey had been right. He’d had a near miss on that last mission in Africa, and Ross had been pissed off enough to want retribution. Tony could go it alone, but eventually Ross, or someone like him, would catch him unaware, and Tony has heard the rumors.

 

Ross has at least one pet scientist, and no one seems to be falling over themselves to rescue him—if he even wants to be rescued.

 

“I reserve the right to refuse a project,” Tony says quietly. Really, all SHIELD has to do is keep Ross off Tony’s back until the palladium poisoning turns fatal. “But I think I can give you communications, transportation, and defensive technology.”

 

And if Tony builds in his own safeguards, SHIELD will just have to live with it.

 

Some of the tension goes out of the room. “Agreed,” Fury says.

 

“What’s my second problem?” Tony asks, wanting to get all their cards on the table.

 

A faint smile touches Fury’s lips. “You’re dying.”

 

Rhodey makes a sound that can only be classified as a denial, and he’s been fairly quiet up until now. “What? Tony, that’s not—”

 

“How did you know?” Tony asks, keeping his expression impassive and his voice expressionless. There’s a part of him that thinks he should have expected this.

 

Fury leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I knew your father,” Fury says quietly. “And SHIELD has been keeping an eye on you for some time, even before Afghanistan. After you returned, after your little stunt with the press, we knew the Army would be after you.”

 

Tony’s a genius, and he can put two and two together. SHIELD had known, just like Rhodey had known, that Tony wouldn’t be able to remain a free agent. _Someone_ would seek to control him, whether that was Ross—who is currently in charge of the military’s special (read: shady and possibly illegal) projects—some other government entity, or SHIELD, Tony couldn’t remain a free agent.

 

That’s not how the world works, not since Erskine created Captain America. Tony has been lucky to remain relatively unfettered until now, and that’s mostly because of his wealth, and his family name.

 

Maybe, if he’d continued making weapons, he could have placated the military and convinced them to leave him alone with his suit.

 

Tony’s not going to make weapons, however, and that has left him with very few options.

 

“What do you want?” Tony asks, hearing the flatness in his voice.

 

Fury raises an eyebrow. “What makes you think we want anything, other than to save your sorry ass?”

 

“Because that’s not how the world works,” Tony replies. “Everybody wants something out of me. It’s _quid pro quo_ , and I want to know what you want.”

 

Fury nods at Romanoff, who tosses a manila folder down on the small coffee table in front of the couch. “We want you to make sure that Ross doesn’t _have_ a pet scientist going forward.”

 

It’s curiosity more than anything else that has Tony reaching for the folder, and he pauses as he sees the photograph on top, clearly taken for the purpose of some sort of identification badge. The name under the photo reads, “Banner, R. Bruce, Ph.D.”

 

Tony stares at the photo for a moment—the guy is undeniably attractive, staring straight into the camera, his expression stoic. He’s about Tony’s age, and as Tony scans the rest of the file, it’s apparent that he’s also a genius.

 

He flips a couple of pages and then stops cold at the grainy surveillance photo. “What the hell?”

 

“Dr. Banner is the source of Ross’ success with the super soldier program,” Fury says quietly. “He tested the serum on himself. Our reports suggest that it didn’t go well.”

 

Banner looks rough in the surveillance photo, his hair longer, but lank, wearing several days’ worth of stubble, his face gaunter than in the previous photograph.

 

“They’re holding him prisoner?” Tony asks.

 

Fury shakes his head. “Our information says that he’s been persuaded to stay through a variety of methods.”

 

Tony feels sick. “What kind of methods? And what does this have to do with me?”

 

“Agent Romanoff can fill you in,” Fury says. “As for what it has to do with you, Mr. Stark, you’re going to lead the rescue effort. Without his own pet scientist, Ross might find it a little difficult to deliver on all those promises he’s been making.”

 

~~~~~

 

Tony has been closeted with Agent Romanoff for two days, going over all the information that SHIELD has been able to gather on Banner and where he’s being held, including how they’re going to get Tony in there.

 

Turns out the plan hinges on Tony playing along that he’s willing to make weapons again, and to be SHIELD’s sacrificial lamb as they play nice with Ross. It means that Tony will have to swallow his pride, and make nice with the Army, and he’ll have to pretend that he’s in SHIELD’s pocket.

 

“So, what’s Fury’s game here?” Tony asks her. “Is he looking to collect a set of superheroes?”

 

“Fury wants to protect you, and Banner,” Romanoff replies. “And he doesn’t like what Ross is using Banner for. He knows where this ends.”

 

Tony turns to look at her. “Where does it end?”

 

“It ends with those in power using people like you for their own ends, without considering the consequences,” Romanoff replies.

 

Tony gives her a long look. “What makes you think Fury is any better?”

 

“He was better to me,” she says quietly. “He protected me, and he’s done the same for others. He’s willing to do this for you, and for Banner.”

 

Tony studies the file in front of him. “We don’t know what will set Banner off, do we?”

 

“They’ve been drugging him,” Natasha replies. “You’ll need to find out with what, and either get a supply or find a way to make more.”

 

Tony shakes his head. “I think that’s got to be up to him.”

 

“How else are you going to make sure he doesn’t kill you?” Romanoff asks.

 

“I don’t know yet,” Tony replies. “But everything that’s in here says he’s a genius. They might be drugging him, but I think they’ve managed to convince him not to leave, otherwise he would have escaped, or tried to.”

 

Romanoff makes a few keystrokes. “Betty Ross. She was Banner’s girlfriend, and she was hurt after the initial accident.”

 

“Hurt, but not killed?” Tony asks.

 

“She’s alive and well,” Romanoff confirms. “She’s engaged.”

 

“I’ll need proof of that,” Tony replies. “Anything you can get on her, with something that shows conclusively that she’s alive and well.”

 

Romanoff glances at him. “Why?”

 

“Because I have a hunch,” Tony replies. “And I’d like to go in there with as much ammunition as possible.”

 

Romanoff nods. “Then you’ll have it.”

 

“I want everything Banner has ever published, too,” Tony says. “And I need to know what you’re willing to let me do.”

 

Romanoff raises her eyebrows. “Like what?”

 

“Like, am I allowed to kidnap him?” Tony asks.

 

“You really think that’s a good idea?” Romanoff asks.

 

Tony’s already thinking about the possibilities. “Somewhere deserted, where he can lose control all he wants,” he muses, thinking about the grainy video of the creature that Bruce apparently turns into. “Where he can learn control if necessary. Hell, where he can stay if that’s not a possibility.”

 

“That seems awfully generous of you,” Romanoff says.

 

Tony shakes his head. “I was held for three months; they’ve kept Banner prisoner for over five years. It’s not right. The Army is using him, and I’d guess that he doesn’t even know what they’re using him for.”

 

Romanoff doesn’t look convinced. “How do you know they haven’t brainwashed him?”

 

“I don’t,” Tony replies. “Hence asking for permission to kidnap him, deprogram him, whatever it takes.”

 

Romanoff looks deeply skeptical. “What makes you think you can do that?”

 

Tony sighs. “I don’t know that I can, but Banner is a genius, and there’s a good chance we’ll speak the same language. By the time I get done reviewing his research, I’ll have a pretty good idea of how his brain works.”

 

“Be careful,” Romanoff advises. “Fury’s gone to a lot of effort to make sure you have access to Banner, but you’ll be watched constantly. If they think you’re going to break him out—”

 

Tony grimaces. “Chances are they’ll bury both of us in a hole so deep we’ll never find a way out of it.”

 

Romanoff’s expression is grim. “I’m your extraction plan. You’ll have a panic button and an escape route. It will be up to you to get Banner to either go along with you, or to _make_ him.”

 

“You really want him free of Ross,” Tony says.

 

“And we want the samples of his blood destroyed, and if you could figure out a way to destroy all other information they have on the super soldier program, that would be ideal,” Romanoff replies.

 

“You don’t ask for much, do you?” Tony asks.

 

Romanoff’s lips twitch. “Access to Banner is tightly controlled. Only those Ross and Kimball trust are allowed to interact with him. We believe they’ll allow you to work with him because they will believe you’ve finally caved and are going to go back to making weapons.”

 

Tony smirks. “Oh, I’ll give them a weapon, all right. And when they try to use it, it will blow up in their faces.”

 

“We’ll make a spy out of you yet, Stark,” Romanoff says.

 

“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d prefer this to be a one-time-only deal,” Tony replies.

 

She gives him a long look. “I think you know better than that.”

 

Tony runs a hand through his hair. “This is a fucked up world we live in.”

 

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Romanoff replies. “Now, let’s go over this again. We will need a solid plan in place before Director Fury can begin negotiations.”

 

Tony groans, but doesn’t voice any other complaint.

 

**Los Diablos Military Base, June 2011**

 

Bruce knows better than to let on to how closely he’s followed Stark’s exploits, or how much he admires the man. Even if he has taken up with another agency for protection, the fact that he can come and go freely indicates he’s in a better position than Bruce.

 

The fact that he isn’t inclined to tell the Army Bruce’s secrets suggests he might still have that independent spirit Bruce so admires.

 

Or maybe he’s working for SHIELD now, and SHIELD and the Army are in some kind of complicated power play that Bruce can’t begin to decipher.

 

Bruce decides he’ll trust, but verify.

 

Really, he’s starved for company that isn’t one of his guards or Kimball, and he’ll probably start to drink the Kool-Aid before long without some kind of outside contact. He’s been trying to keep his head on straight during this whole ordeal, but the lack of outside contact and near solitary confinement has been the hardest to bear.

 

Tony Stark’s presence is one of the few bright spots in an otherwise dreary existence—especially since the man is even more brilliant than everyone says.

 

“So, the real question is why you stay here,” Stark says as they work on the gamma bomb—or at least a version that will look real and blow up in the Army’s face, hopefully without killing anybody.

 

Bruce shrugs. “I don’t have much choice, really. It’s the only way I can avoid hurting people.”

 

“What if there was another way?” Stark suggests.

 

Bruce glances over at him. “I realize that you’re a genius, but the Army has had years to study my condition and find a way to control it. There’s nothing for me out there, except to risk the lives of others.”

 

“What if you haven’t killed anybody?” Stark asks.

 

Bruce stares at him. “I’ve killed at least a dozen people, and probably more.”

 

“What if I could prove that you hadn’t?”

 

“You can’t prove I didn’t kill someone,” Bruce objects.

 

Stark holds out his phone, and Bruce freezes as he sees Betty’s picture. “It’s a trick.”

 

“Why would I want to trick you?” Stark asks in a low voice.

 

“Because there’s always someone who’s going to want to use me as a weapon,” Bruce says, but he’s still staring at the picture in disbelief.

 

He’d known that there were things the Army lied about, but this? Is Betty really still alive?

 

Stark shakes his head. “What if there was a way around that, too?”

 

“You can’t promise that,” Bruce objects, his attention still on the picture. Stark is lying; he has to be. There are ways to fake a picture like this, and maybe SHIELD wants Bruce for its own reasons. The implications if Tony is telling the truth—he can’t let himself go there. “SHIELD is using you just as much as they’re using me.”

 

“I was bargaining from a position of strength,” Stark replies, pocketing his phone. “And I’ve been authorized to get you out. I have a place we can go.”

 

Bruce frowns. “Look, Stark, I just met you. We have a job to do, and I’d like to do it.”

 

He’s not ready to trust Stark that far, and he’s not ready to even entertain the idea of escape. The last time he’d tried and failed—

 

Bruce doesn’t like to think about that time. Stark could still be a plant, Bruce thinks, tempting him to escape, trying to trick him into it, only to result in more tests, losing days to the drugs they pumped into his system, putting up with the methods the Army used to provoke him—

 

“Hey, hey, Banner, come on.”

 

Stark’s voice breaks Bruce’s paralysis and the memories flashing through his head. “Huh?”

 

“Where did you go just now?” Stark asks.

 

Bruce shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I just want to work.”

 

“Okay,” Stark agrees readily. “But you’re okay?”

 

“Fine,” Bruce says shortly. “I’m _fine_.”

 

“Absolutely. So, I’m thinking about propulsion systems.” Stark pivots easily, and that gives Bruce something else to focus on other than his memories.

 

~~~~~

 

The ride back to the motel is silent, mostly because Tony is stewing in his frustration. He really thought he was getting somewhere, and then Banner just seemed to freeze up. Tony has another ten days, though, and he knows better than to push too hard now, even if patience isn’t normally his strong suit.

 

He’d made good progress over the last three days; Banner had at least told him about the lack of sound in the lab, and Tony had provided evidence that Betty Ross is alive. It’s now clear that Bruce isn’t entirely in the Army’s pocket, and Tony has a shot at convincing him to escape.

 

In the meantime, Tony’s bug is digging into their system, which means he’ll soon have some idea of what they’re giving Banner to keep the big green guy under control.

 

And unlike Bruce, Tony can leave the base at the end of the day, which lets him get a little distance.

 

Barton has been staying in Tony’s room, which tells Tony that they’re not at all certain that the Army won’t make a play for the arc reactor, although Barton and Romanoff usually spend a couple of hours holed up in her room once they get back to the motel.

 

Tonight, however, they follow Tony into his room, and Romanoff says, “Progress report?”

 

“I showed Banner the photo of Betty Ross,” Tony replies, tugging off his tie and undoing the top button. “He thought I was trying to trick him, and then he had some kind of flashback.”

 

“Not surprising,” Barton says. “I’ll bet they weren’t real gentle with him.”

 

Tony hasn’t been able to get a good read on Barton, since they don’t spend much time together, and Barton doesn’t talk much on the drive to and from the base. About the only thing Tony knows for sure is that he’s a professional, and he’s close with Romanoff.

 

“We should know more tomorrow,” Tony says. “I’ll have everything they’ve got on Banner by close of business.”

 

“Do you think he’ll agree to leave on his own?” Romanoff asks.

 

Tony rubs his jaw. “I don’t know.”

 

“We could knock him out, give him an extra dose of whatever it is the Army is giving him,” Barton suggests. “That might work.”

 

“It might,” Tony agrees. “Or maybe we should try the opposite approach—replace the drugs with a placebo and let the Hulk break himself out.”

 

Romanoff’s expression goes carefully blank. “Are you sure that’s wise? You’re supposed to be winning Banner’s trust.”

 

“That’s plan A,” Tony agrees. “But I want to wait to see what the files on Banner say. It might be that the only way we can gain his trust, and keep him from running right back to the Army, would be to prove that his alter ego isn’t as dangerous as he thinks.”

 

Barton snorts. “I don’t think you can say that the Hulk isn’t dangerous, Stark. We’re talking about something that’s big, green, and really fucking angry.”

 

“And trapped,” Tony argues. “Maybe he’d appreciate being let out on occasion.”

 

“And maybe that’s a bad idea,” Romanoff snaps. “You can’t control the Hulk.”

 

“The Army seems to think it can,” Tony counters. “And it has. But if you want to get Banner out of there, you’ll have to make him believe that he can get control without resorting to the drugs.”

 

“What if he can’t?” Barton asks.

 

Tony sighs. “Then I guess I’ll have to convince him that he can at least be more comfortable with me.”

 

“Hard not to be,” Barton says. “I’ve been poking around, and they don’t afford Banner many luxuries. One of his guards, Collins, is fond of him. I think he might help, given the alternatives.”

 

“Find out,” Romanoff instructs. “We can use an inside man.”

 

Tony finally asks the question that’s been bothering him from the beginning. “What’s going to keep Ross from coming after him again?”

 

Barton smirks. “Once he’s a SHIELD asset, Fury will have the authority to keep him, especially since the Army doesn’t have the right to keep him prisoner.”

 

“Then why has it taken so long to do something about it?” Tony demands, thinking about what the response might have been if the Army had kidnapped him. Would anybody have cared to get him released?

 

Romanoff sighs. “Things have been delicate, but Ross went too far with Blonsky.”

 

Since Blonsky had caused millions of dollars of property damage while on an op in Pakistan, and had killed a high level official, thus giving the U.S. a black eye, “going too far” is putting it mildly.

 

Tony is beginning to get a sense of what’s going on. “Wait. What are you going to do to destroy the existing samples?”

 

“Leave that to me,” Barton says.

 

Tony had thought he’d have another ten days, but he’s beginning to think that’s a little too optimistic.

 

He’s going to have to get through to Banner sooner rather than later, because Tony has a feeling that this operation is going to get complicated.

 

**Los Diablos Military Base, October 2006**

 

Bruce’s head feels fuzzy, and he stirs on his cot, trying to sort out what had happened. The last thing he remembers, he had been trying to escape, and he knows he’d made it as far as the desert surrounding the base. He doesn’t remember anything after that, but he’s wearing scrubs, rather than his own clothing, and his feet are bare.

 

At least he’s not strapped to a table, he thinks, as he sits up carefully, his head pounding at the movement.

 

Instead, he’s on a cot in a bare cell, with a stainless steel toilet in the corner and a sink next to it. There are no windows, not even in the door, and the only light comes from a fluorescent light set deeply into the high ceiling above him.

 

He swallows, and realizes that there’s something around his wrist, a tight band with a square box directly over his pulse point. Bruce tugs at it and finds there’s no give.

 

There’s a sting, and then he feels himself relax. At that moment, the door opens, and Dr. Kimball steps inside. “Ah, Dr. Banner. I trust you are feeling calmer.”

 

“What—what happened?” Bruce asks.

 

“You tried to escape, even knowing the danger that you present,” Kimball replies gently. “Bruce, you know we keep you here for your protection, as well as the protection of everyone else.”

 

Bruce swallows. “You want to use me.”

 

“Don’t you want the opportunity to atone for your crimes?” Kimball asks. “Especially after this last stunt. You killed a dozen men. Really, anyone else would be on death row by now. Do you want that?”

 

He thinks death might be preferable to the alternative. “It might be better.”

 

Kimball sits down on the bed next to Bruce. “Do you really believe that? When you still have the opportunity to do so much good?”

 

Bruce shakes his head. He feels as though something is off about Kimball’s proposal, even though Kimball had been kind to him over the last months.

 

“Breathe, Dr. Banner,” Kimball advises. “I know these last few months have been very difficult for you, I know you still mourn Betty’s passing, but you have the opportunity to make up for it.”

 

That doesn’t sound right, Bruce thinks. It can’t be right. He’d left—

 

Why had he left? He can’t remember now. Someone had asked him—

 

Bruce doesn’t know.

 

“Bruce, you can make up for all the damage you’ve done,” Kimball murmurs. “You can make things right. All you have to do is do what you’re told.”

 

There’s a small part of his mind that’s screaming at him not to listen, that this is a trap, and he should resist.

 

“Yes,” Bruce finds himself saying. “I want to make up for the damage I’ve caused.”

 

He’s not even sure what he’s done, what he’s been accused of doing, but he’s willing to agree that he’d done it, and that he deserves to be punished for it.

 

“That’s right,” Kimball says, his tone approving. “I knew you’d see reason. You can try to escape, but you’ll always be found, and you’ll kill people in the process. Do I need to show you the video again?”

 

Bruce recoils. “No.”

 

“I think maybe I do,” Kimball replies. “It will be a reminder of what is at stake, and how good you have it here.”

 

Kimball leaves, but one wall lights up, revealing a monitor. The sound is so loud that Bruce couldn’t block it out even if he tried, and he can’t tear his eyes away.

 

Bruce sees himself in a chair with a cocky grin, and then after taking the serum, his clothing tears at the seams, green skin becoming visible, and there’s the roar of a monster. He sees Betty flung aside, and then the view switches to her in a hospital bed, the monitors shrieking as her heart stops. And then he sees more footage, getting out of the military base and flinging soldiers aside in his altered state.

 

And then there’s the few of a dozen coffins, each draped with a flag—and then it starts all over again on an endless loop.

 

Bruce watches because he can’t tear himself away, and he wants to see Betty, even if she’s dying or dead.

 

He has no idea how long the video plays on an endless loop, but eventually he falls asleep, only to wake in the middle of the same footage.

 

Bruce has no idea how long that goes on, although he falls asleep and wakes up several more times. He eats a few meager meals that consist mostly of bread and water, and that leave his stomach largely empty.

 

It’s not hunger that gets to Bruce, although it does leave him weakened, and when Kimball comes back with four soldiers in tow, he has no fight left in him.

 

“I need you to stay seated, Bruce,” Kimball says. “Do I have your word?”

 

Bruce nods. “Yes.”

 

Kimball nods, and says, “Lie down on the bed, and don’t move.”

 

Bruce does as he’s told, although he feels a sense of trepidation.

 

“Don’t fight them,” Kimball says.

 

Bruce closes his eyes and holds still. He feels hands grasp each arm and each leg, and he feels fingers fumbling at the wrist with the bracelet. He hears a click, and then they release him. Bruce keeps his eyes closed, however.

 

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Kimball asks. “Are you ready to cooperate, Dr. Banner?”

 

Bruce opens his eyes and sits up slowly. “Yes,” he says. “What do you want me to do?”

 

Kimball grants him an approving smile. “Good. I’m glad you’re ready to see sense.”

 

Bruce knows he shouldn’t agree. There’s some part of him that wants to keep fighting, but he keeps seeing Betty’s lifeless face over and over, and he can’t summon up the willpower. It seems easier to agree, to do whatever they want, as long as he doesn’t harm anyone again.

 

He’d gone months and had been safe, and as soon as he’d escaped, he’d become a killer again. It would be better if he stayed. If he played by their rules.

 

There’s a small voice at the back of his mind that insists he’s being manipulated, that it’s not so simple as he might believe, that he should fight.

 

But Bruce is so tired, and he doesn’t want to hurt anyone else, and Kimball keeps insisting that they can protect other people from him, and Bruce wants to believe them. He wants to be safe; Bruce wants to keep _others_ safe.

 

If he has to give up his freedom to do so, maybe that’s for the best.

 

He will do what he has to in order to protect others from himself.

 

**Los Diablos Military Base, New Mexico, June 2011**

 

Tony doesn’t bring up escape again the next day. He wants to get a little better understanding of what Banner has been through, and the techniques they used on him. The computers in Banner’s lab are all on a separate set of non-networked servers, which poses a bit of a problem, although it’s not insurmountable. It just means that things are taking a little longer.

 

“So, what do you do for fun around here?” Tony asks.

 

Banner snorts. “You’re not serious.”

 

“All work and no play makes Banner a dull boy,” Tony replies. “Surely they let you have fun on occasion.”

 

Banner’s shoulders are hunched. “I read.”

 

“Well, maybe I could bring you something,” Tony suggests. “Is there anything you want but can’t get your hands on?”

 

Banner shakes his head. “No, that’s okay. I’d rather—I’d rather put my focus on the project.”

 

“Are you sure?” Tony asks. “I could get you something else. Anything you want to eat?”

 

“No.”

 

“I could—”

 

“ _No_ ,” Banner snaps. “I don’t—you’ll be gone in a week and a half. I don’t want to get used to…”

 

He trails off, and Tony winces. “I’m going to be consulting for SHIELD now. Our paths might cross again.”

 

“Kimball doesn’t let me have visitors,” Banner says. “The only reason you’re here is because they think you’re actually going to build weapons for them. When they find out it doesn’t work, they’re going to blame one or both of us.”

 

“And that doesn’t bother you?” Tony asks in a low voice.

 

Banner shakes his head. “I’m used to it.”

 

It’s on the tip of Tony’s tongue to tell Banner that he doesn’t have to stay behind, that he can come with Tony, but he stops himself. Something holds Banner here, and Tony needs to find out what that is.

 

He’ll figure out the right buttons to push, and then he’ll be able to play Banner like a fiddle.

 

That’s probably not the best attitude to have, but Tony’s used to getting his way, and he has a job to do, and that requires getting Banner out of here by whatever means necessary.

 

They work together well, though, and Tony wishes he could say as much, tell Banner that he’s never worked with someone who spoke his language so fluently.

 

“It’s nice to finally work with someone on my level,” Tony says, wanting to offer something.

 

Banner’s quick smile is payment enough. “Likewise.”

 

“I know what you said,” Tony murmurs. “But if there’s something I could do to make your life easier, you should tell me.”

 

Banner hesitates. “Can you get me a secure line out of here? A way to get information in and out without Kimball knowing? I think if I could—if I could have that, I—it would be easier.”

 

“Done,” Tony says quickly. “Before I leave, you’ll have a secure way to communicate with the world, and Kimball won’t be the wiser.”

 

Banner nods. “Thank you.”

 

“Don’t thank me yet, Dr. Banner,” Tony says. “I’m working on a plan.”

 

Banner shakes his head. “Save yourself first, Stark. In this world, that’s all you can do.”

 

“I refuse to believe that,” Tony replies. “I think anybody can be saved, including you.”

 

Banner takes a deep breath. “That’s a nice sentiment. I don’t know that you’ll manage to hang on to it.”

 

“Maybe not,” Tony agrees. “But I’m going to try for as long as I can.”

 

It’s late by the time they wrap up for the day, and Tony knows that he has hours worth of work waiting for him at the hotel, since he should have the information he needs to draw a conclusion.

 

Barton waits until they’re in the Jeep heading back to the hotel before he says, “I got what you asked for.”

 

“You didn’t have any trouble retrieving the bug?” Tony asks.

 

Barton looks over his shoulder with a smirk. “Please. Like taking candy from a baby. The security looks good, but the guards have grown complacent.”

 

“Which is good for us,” Romanoff adds. “It will make it easier to get Banner out. I’ve been cultivating the guard, Collins. I think he might help us.”

 

Tony makes a sound of agreement. “It’s always good to have options.”

 

Tony feels as though he’s starting to build a rapport with Barton, and he’s been working with Romanoff on this mission for months. Normally, he doesn’t work well with others, but he doesn’t have a choice right now.

 

They go through a drive-through for dinner, and then all three of them settle down in Tony’s room to go over the data gleaned from his bug.

 

Tony would have preferred to go over the data by himself, but the team that spies together stays together, and he’s grown to respect Romanoff’s understanding of human nature. And while Tony has some experience with torture, he suspects that Barton and Romanoff have far more.

 

If he can’t figure out how to reverse Banner’s programming, maybe they can.

 

What he sees makes Tony sick.

 

Kimball has recorded every move Bruce has made over the last five and a half years, from the moment he woke up strapped to a gurney, to the most recent mind fuck.

 

It turns out that the way the Army tests a new dosage level is attempting to goad Banner into changing, usually in the most painful way possible. And then, when they do manage to make him turn, Kimball manages to convince Banner that he’s killed at least one person, maybe more.

 

_Every single fucking time._

 

“The problem is that he doesn’t even use names,” Tony remarks sourly. “I can try to prove that Betty is alive, if he’ll even believe me. If I knew who Banner was supposed to have killed, I could track them down, have them record a greeting, and convince Banner that he’s not a murderer.”

 

Romanoff leans back in her chair. “But that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. He _did_ put Betty Ross in the hospital, and he did cause considerable damage on his escape attempt.”

 

“Because people were shooting at him,” Tony argues. “I’ve caused plenty of damage, and wouldn’t you be pissed off if the Army kept you locked up, and then shot at you when you tried to run?”

 

Barton raises his eyebrows. “And that’s going to change this time around?”

 

“No, but maybe he’ll recognize a friend when he sees one,” Tony argues. “And I’ll have the armor.”

 

“They’re not going to let you bring your armor on the base,” Barton says.

 

“I’ll use the Mark V,” Tony says. “That should get past the guards.”

 

Romanoff frowns. “Which iteration is that?”

 

“The briefcase suit,” Tony explains. “It can’t sustain heavy damage, but it’s highly maneuverable. Even if the Hulk won’t listen to me, I should be able to stay out of his way and lead him off, wait for Banner to get back to normal.”

 

“Are we really doing this?” Barton asks. “I’m pretty sure Fury didn’t intend on us unleashing the beast.”

 

Romanoff raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Fury authorized us to use whatever means necessary, and you know as well as I do what kind of effort it’s going to take to break through Banner’s programming. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than a couple of weeks and Stark’s charm.”

 

Barton rubs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

 

“If we do this right, Kimball is going to take the blame,” Tony says quietly with immense satisfaction. “It’s going to look like he screwed up the dosage and released the Hulk. When Banner disappears, they’re going to blame him for that, too.”

 

“And meanwhile, it will look like we’re taking care of our asset,” Barton agrees. “Can you figure out exactly when we need to switch out his meds for the placebo?”

 

Tony smiles. “Down to the minute, but on the off chance that it’s going to take a little more than a lack of the drugs for Banner to transform, I’m going to need to jumpstart him, which means I’ll need the briefcase in the lab.”

 

Barton nods. “There are some air vents, if Natasha can’t get it to you. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

 

“What are you going to tell Banner?” Romanoff asks.

 

Tony smiles. “I’ll tell him to trust me.”

 

She snorts. “Does that ever work?”

 

“He won’t have a choice,” Tony replies. “You’ve been chatting up that guard of his, right?”

 

Romanoff looks at him cautiously. “I have.”

 

“Find out what Banner likes—candy, food, whatever, anything portable,” Tony orders.

 

“Ask him yourself,” she counters.

 

Tony smiles. “He won’t tell me; I already tried. He’s already dreading the day our project is over and I have to leave.”

 

“Why don’t I believe you?” Romanoff asks.

 

Tony gives her a quick, insincere smile. “Because you’re immune to my many charms?”

 

“That must be it,” she says.

 

Tony yawns. “All right, early day tomorrow, and all good spies should be in bed.”

 

“This had better work, Stark,” Barton says. “If it doesn’t, it’s going to blow up in our faces in a truly spectacular fashion.”

 

“If that’s the case,” Tony replies, “at least we’ll go out with a bang.”

 

~~~~~

 

Bruce knows something is up. He admires Stark, but he doesn’t entirely trust the man, and no wonder. He knows Stark has come here with ulterior motives, because he’s certainly not interested in building the bomb that the Army thinks he’s here to design.

 

And while there’s a part of Bruce that wants to believe Stark might actually be able to get him out of here, he’s lost hope of leaving this place a long time ago. The best he can hope for is to endure and manage his small rebellions.

 

Bruce relaxes slightly when Stark doesn’t bring up the idea of escape again, although it’s possible that he’s just biding his time.

 

Stark has, however, snuck in M&M’s, which Bruce hasn’t had in ages, and bags of dried blueberries and chocolate covered raisins. One day, Stark’s assistant, Natalie Rushman, manages to bring in burgers that are far better than the thin, greasy patties from the cafeteria.

 

“Is your assistant magical?” Bruce asks.

 

Stark lets out a bark of laughter. “No, but she is rather resourceful.”

 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was a seduction attempt,” Bruce remarks.

 

Stark raises an eyebrow. “Would you be amenable if it were?”

 

“I’m not really the kind of guy to put out on the first date,” Bruce jokes, deflecting.

 

Stark raises his eyebrows. “When you get out of here, I’ll take you out, wine and dine you properly.”

 

“I’m not getting out of here,” Bruce says impatiently. “I wish you would stop that.”

 

Stark holds up his hands. “Fair enough. I’ll stop. But while I’m here, I don’t mind making your life more comfortable.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Bruce protests. “I don’t need special treatment.”

 

Something passes across Stark’s face then. “Banner, this isn’t special treatment. Not that I have much experience with this sort of thing, but I think it’s called having a friend.”

 

Bruce feels his face heat.

 

“Forget it,” Stark says, waving a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Tomorrow can take care of itself and all that.”

 

“I thought you were all about the future,” Bruce says.

 

Stark smiles. “I used to be. Right now, though, I’m all about the present.”

 

Bruce glances away, an answering smile pulling at his lips. He’s been trying not to get attached, but Stark is making that difficult. Bruce has had to let a lot of things go in the last few years, and he’s used to it by now.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Stark says at the end of the day, clapping Bruce on the shoulder.

 

Bruce thinks he’s been touched more in the last week than in the last five-plus years—at least in kindness. “Yeah, see you tomorrow,” he echoes.

 

He works awhile longer before Collins comes to take him back to his quarters. “Heads up, doc,” Collins murmurs.

 

Bruce stiffens. He knows Kimball hadn’t been pleased to have Stark here, and he suspects he’s about to hear just how displeased he is.

 

Collins opens the door to Bruce’s quarters—or, to call it what it is, his cell—and Kimball is sitting in the chair in front of the small desk, making himself at home as usual. Bruce recognizes it for the power play it is; Kimball is proving that Bruce has no private space.

 

“Dr. Banner,” Kimball says, and Bruce recognizes that tone of voice. It’s the one that usually heralds a lot of discomfort for Bruce.

 

Bruce sits down on the edge of the bed, his mouth dry. “Dr. Kimball.”

 

“I hope you’re not getting too used to having visitors, or all the little favors Mr. Stark seems to be showing you,” Kimball says. “And that you haven’t forgotten why you’re here.”

 

“I haven’t,” Bruce says, keeping his voice even with some difficulty. “Of course I haven’t.”

 

“I’ve allowed you your little rebellions, Dr. Banner,” Kimball says. Bruce’s expression must have betrayed his surprise, because he continues, “Because it suited me to do so in order to ensure your compliance. But if you think for one moment that I am unaware of _anything_ that happens on this base, you are sorely mistaken.”

 

Bruce clutches the thin blanket on his bed and says nothing.

 

“That being said, the Army overruled me and insisted that I allow Mr. Stark access to you in order to build their weapon,” Kimball says. “And I realized I’ve been remiss in explaining to you exactly what will happen if we get anything other than what we were promised.”

 

Bruce feels the anger, held in check by the drugs, twisting his stomach. For once, he wishes Kimball hadn’t been so good at his job. He wishes he could let loose the beast that lives inside him.

 

Because Bruce might be a monster, but at least everybody knows that. Kimball hides behind a mask of civility and reasonableness.

 

Since Kimball seems to be waiting for Bruce to respond, he says, “You’ll get what you want.”

 

“If it doesn’t work perfectly, if there are any problems at all, you’ll be the one to pay the price,” Kimball says, ignoring Bruce’s promise. “We don’t need your brain, Dr. Banner. Not really. There are other scientists who are willing to work with us who will be far less trouble. Do this right, or there’s a transcranial lobotomy in your future. Now that we have the dosage right, we can trigger the Hulk whenever we like, and then put you back in your box. You’ll be nothing more than a mindless weapon then. I’m sure you’d rather at least retain the semblance of humanity, no matter how much of a monster you really are.”

 

Bruce sits in stunned silence as Kimball rises and knocks sharply on the door. “Oh, and please remember that we don’t have to let Stark leave. We could have him restrained and the arc reactor out of his chest before he can so much as voice a protest. Remember that, too.”

 

Bruce swallows heavily, feeling an overwhelming despair. He has to warn Stark, and he has to—he has to find a way to kill himself, because now that the threat has been issued, Bruce suspects it’s only a matter of time until Kimball carries it out. With the Hulk contained, the drugs making it impossible for Bruce to transform, he has no doubt that Kimball will be successful.

 

And right now, Bruce knows what it means to be staring at a fate worse than death.

 

 

**Malibu, California, March 2011**

 

“I’m just saying, why aren’t we going in right now?” Tony asks as a SHIELD agent drops a box in his living room. “If everything you’ve told me is true, three months is a long time to leave this guy in the Army’s hands.”

 

Fury raises an eyebrow. “Your enthusiasm is commendable, Mr. Stark, but there are two reasons. Number one, Kimball and Ross are balking at allowing Banner to have contact with anyone outside the program.”

 

Tony snorts. “The better to brainwash him.”

 

“Probably,” Fury agrees. “Assuming that he hasn’t been turned completely, that’s our conclusion as well.”

 

“And number two?” Tony prompts.

 

“You’re dying, and if you’re right about salvaging Banner, then you’re going to have your hands full for a while, and don’t need the distraction,” Fury replies.

 

Tony nods. “Fair point.”

 

No one seems to quite know what to do with Tony’s insistence that he be the one to handle Banner once they get him out of the Army’s clutches. SHIELD had apparently just assumed that they could get him out, and then maybe put him up in a lab somewhere and continue dosing him with the same drugs the Army was using to keep the Hulk at bay.

 

They don’t know _what_ the Army is using, or if it’s a combination of drugs and mind control, or why Banner hasn’t made a serious escape attempt, or even what his current state of mind is. They just don’t want the Army to have him.

 

Tony, on the other hand, has read Banner’s research, and he knows how smart the guy is. He can’t help but think that if Banner were off the drugs, he’d be even sharper.

 

Tony has learned to control the arc reactor, and the power that it gives him; Banner’s a smart guy. He’ll be able to do the same.

 

“We’ve bought you some time,” Fury continues. “But everything you need to save yourself is here.” He nudges the box with his foot. “Your father believed in your potential.”

 

Tony snorts. “He had a funny way of showing it.”

 

Fury shrugs, as though that’s none of his business. “You could just have the arc reactor removed, you know.”

 

“I could, but I’d actually have to be unconscious for that, and there’s no one I trust near it at the moment,” Tony snaps. “Also, I don’t really like being unconscious. It sucks. As does open heart surgery.”

 

“Then figure out what it’s going to take to get it running in a way that doesn’t kill you,” Fury replies. “Because I still believe that you’re Banner’s best hope of getting out.”

 

Fury turns to leave, and Tony calls after him, “Why me? Why not just send in a bunch of SHIELD agents and kidnap him? Hell, you could disguise them as terrorists or something.”

 

“Because, like you, I believe that Banner can be saved,” Fury replies. “And I don’t really want to rescue him if our only other option is another jail cell.”

 

Tony shrugs and starts working, calling Pepper up when he realizes what the missing piece of the puzzle is. “Hey, Pep, do you still have that model of the Stark Expo from the 70’s in your office?”

 

“How nice of you to finally call,” Pepper says dryly. “Why yes, I’m doing well, thank you so much for asking.”

 

Tony sighs and wishes that Rhodey hadn’t told Pepper about the fact that he was dying. Far from endearing him to her, she’d just been really, really annoyed that he had been keeping it a secret. She’s even more annoyed that he’s joined SHIELD (sort of), and is going on a mission that’s going to be keeping him away from Stark Industries for months.

 

Also, to be perfectly honest, Tony had forgotten that making her CEO would then mean she wasn’t contractually obligated to put up with any of his shit.

 

“I’m trying to find a way to not slowly poison myself to death,” Tony replies. “I would think you’d be happy.”

 

“I would have been happy if you’d told me that in the first place,” Pepper replies. “Or if you’d told me any of this, Tony. Also, if you weren’t trying to single-handedly take on the Army.”

 

Tony runs a hand through his hair. “I know. But I can’t leave this guy in the Army’s hands. It’s like that damn pilot last year, remember? They want me to play their game, and I won’t.”

 

She sighs. “I know. I just worry about you. And I hate going to funerals.”

 

“I will do my best to survive and emerge unscathed, and thank you for agreeing to run my company so I can focus on other things, like saving the world,” Tony replies.

 

She huffs, but says, “The model is here, as is Happy. I can have him drive it out to you.”

 

“That would be great,” Tony replies sincerely. “Thank you.”

 

“Thank me by not dying,” she replies. “I have to go.”

 

Tony hangs up and stares at the picture of his dad on the screen, frozen in time. He wonders if Howard Stark had foreseen any of this, if he’d started SHIELD with this goal in mind—to protect the innocent from those in power who would use them for their own gain.

 

And for the first time, Tony thinks his father might be proud of him.

 

**Los Diablos Military Base, New Mexico, Early June 2011**

 

Bruce trembles the morning that he sees four guards have come for him, and Collins isn’t one of them. He hadn’t thought he was due for another round of tests for at least another month, but maybe he’s miscalculated somehow.

 

He knows better than to ask any questions, or to complain, though. That will only make things worse.

 

Bruce knows that from painful experience.

 

Unlike the last round of tests, they don’t force him to wear scrubs, though, and Bruce wonders what exactly this is about, especially when they don’t take him to the usual testing chamber.

 

This room is somewhere in the basement of the building where they’ve been keeping Bruce, below ground, but probably only a sub-basement, not nearly so far down as when they’re running more rigorous tests.

 

That should probably make him feel better, but it doesn’t. Bruce can fool himself into thinking that the tests are necessary to ensure that he’s taking the appropriate dosage. He suspects that whatever might happen here today has another purpose entirely.

 

The door to the room slides open and the guards shove him inside. There’s a chair in the center of the room, similar to the one they use on testing days, and Bruce slowly walks towards it and sits down without prompting.

 

“Very good, Dr. Banner,” Kimball says, his voice crackling over the intercom. “I see you’re finally learning.”

 

Bruce feels sick to his stomach, and is grateful that he hasn’t had breakfast yet. “What is this?”

 

“Well, it seems you’re to have a visitor,” Kimball replies. “I tried to explain that your mental state is fragile, and you’re best left to work undisturbed, but it’s not every day that Tony Stark offers to build the Army a gamma bomb. He insists that he needs _you_ to do it.”

 

Bruce knows that the Army hasn’t been using his research on gamma radiation for anything good, but building a gamma bomb? “That’s going to result in a lot of innocent lives lost,” Bruce replies, trying to keep his tone even and reasonable.

 

“Not if you build it right,” Kimball replies. “I imagine that between you and Stark, you might come up with a way to minimize the damage and resulting fallout. And if you don’t, that’s not on the Army.”

 

Bruce closes his eyes. “I would rather not.”

 

“And I’d rather not have my own research disturbed by the presence of outsiders, but we don’t always get a choice, now, do we?” Kimball asks. “But, to show I’m doing my part, I’m going to make sure that you have the correct dosage so as to minimize the chance of harm to Mr. Stark.”

 

Bruce feels a swell of resentment towards Stark. As nice as it might be to see someone other than Kimball or his guards, he doesn’t want another round of tests. And in the next moment, Bruce recognizes that Kimball is taking one of the few pleasant events in Bruce’s recent memory—a visitor from the outside, and someone Bruce would love to meet—and turning it into an opportunity to remind Bruce of his place.

 

“I thought we’d skip the electric shock therapy today, Dr. Banner,” Kimball says cheerfully. “I almost think that you’ve gotten a little too used to it.”

 

The restraints close around his wrists at the same time that the _noise_ starts—some kind of high pitched screeching that makes it impossible to think, and just goes on and on.

  
Bruce wouldn’t have thought that noise would be torture, not like electricity, but he can’t put his hands over his ears, and it’s so loud that he has a splitting headache after only a few minutes.

 

He has no idea how long it goes on, but it feels like hours before it stops, and the sudden silence is deafening.

 

“Isn’t the quiet better?” Kimball’s booming voice echoes off the walls of the room. “Remember that during Mr. Stark’s visit.”

 

And Bruce knows it’s just another way for Kimball to say, “Remember who owns you.”

 

**Malibu, California/Democratic Republic of the Congo, December 2010**

 

“I hear Justin Hammer has made a deal with the Army to build a one man fighter,” Rhodey says, leaning against the bar.

 

Tony slings a towel around his neck. “Hammer is an idiot, and the Army is going to be sorry.”

 

“You say that now, but Hammer’s stock is going up,” Pepper replies, glancing up from her tablet. “He’s signed a major defense contract.”

 

Tony frowns at her. “Not you, too. The Army has too much power as it is, Pep. You give them an inch, they’ll take a mile. I’m not doing business with them again.”

 

“We may not have a choice,” Pepper replies.

 

“There’s always a choice,” Tony says. “The arc reactor is going to change the way we do business, and that’s going to give us options.”

 

Rhodey sighs. “Something you are sorely in need of right now.”

 

“You’d think they could show a little gratitude for everything I do,” he mutters. “And I still have a few friends in high places.”

 

“That’s not going to be enough,” Rhodey warns.

 

Tony shrugs. “Then it’s not enough, but I’ll go out with a bang.”

 

He’s not as worried about the Army as Rhodey is because he knows that he’s not going to last forever. It’s only a matter of time until the palladium in the reactor kills him, and the more missions he runs, the less time he has.

 

Tony figures he’ll get the Expo done, and _he’ll_ be done. He’ll have left a legacy, and maybe he’ll be able to show the world that the Army doesn’t need the power it has to bring world peace. One guy with a suit could do the job just as well.

 

“Sir,” Jarvis says, “you have a call from General Turner at the Pentagon.”

 

“See? Friends in high places,” Tony announces. “Put him through, Jarvis.”

 

“Stark? We need your help,” General Turner begins.

 

Tony raises his eyebrows. “You know I just got back from that little trip to Kabul.”

 

“We’ve lost some proprietary and experimental technology in the Congo,” Turner replies. “We need you to retrieve it.”

 

“They aren’t going to be happy to see me,” Tony feels compelled to point out, just to hear the response. “Not to mention whatever terrorist infestation they’ve got.”

 

“You are, of course, authorized to defend yourself if attacked,” Turner adds. “No one will fault you for it.”

 

“Send me the coordinates,” Tony replies. “I’ll leave right away.”

 

“Thank you, son.”

 

The transmission ends, and Tony snorts. “I just love it when he calls me ‘son.’”

 

Rhodey’s on another line, and he hangs up right around the time that Turner does. “Hammer’s one-man aircraft was supposed to still be in the testing phase, and they sent it in to make a pass over enemy territory. Apparently, Hammer didn’t think they would be facing surface-to-air missiles on this run.”

 

Tony rolls his eyes. “He’s a fucking idiot. Those are one of the things terrorists love most.”

 

“Granted, but you know what they’re doing, don’t you?” Rhodey asks. “You’re playing into their hands.”

 

Tony glared at him. “I know exactly what they’re trying to do. They’re trying to turn me into their errand boy, and they want me to clear out the terrorists, for whatever reason.”

 

“We’re not even supposed to be in the Congo,” Rhodey points out.

 

“Tony, are you sure about this?” Pepper asks. “You know they want to control you.”

 

Tony offers her a tight smile. “That’s why it’s so important to prove that I can do things my way and still get the job done.”

 

Rhodey shakes his head. “It’s not going to be that easy, Tony.”

 

“It’s the only strategy I have right now,” Tony shoots back. “Besides, this isn’t about me. It’s about that poor bastard who signed up as a test pilot. My job is to get him out alive, and make sure the terrorists don’t have proprietary technology.” He smirks. “I never promised anything else.”

 

Tony knows he’s playing a dangerous game, but he’s dying anyway. He just wishes he had someone he could entrust the arc reactor technology to, but there’s no one. Pepper will do her best, but she doesn’t know the arc reactor like Tony does, and neither does Rhodey.

 

For the first time in his life, Tony wishes he had a partner who was smart enough to keep up with him, who could be trusted with Stark Industries’ technology. Someone like the person that he’d believed Obadiah to be before he’d betrayed Tony.

 

When he dies, Tony’s tech will die with him. That’s how it has to be.

 

He’s tired, but he flies to the Congo, and he locates the missing pilot. With Jarvis, it’s not too hard to find the crash site, and from there, the missing pilot, who’s already been beaten half to death.

 

“Jarvis?” Tony prompts.

 

“He is still alive, sir, but he won’t last much longer.”

 

“I don’t think he’s supposed to,” Tony replies. “The Army wants a body count. How about we just clear the way so I can save a life, Jarvis?”

 

“Initiating seismic targeting,” Jarvis replies.

 

That knocks the terrorists closing in on him back on their asses, and Tony smirks as he scoops up the pilot in a bridal carry and flies off. The man is in a bad way, so it’s not long before his amusement fades into worry and a healthy dose of anger.

 

Whatever had happened, whatever choices were made, they had placed an innocent’s life in danger. It’s one of the reasons that Tony has elected to use the suit, and has insisted on working alone. This way, no one but him is at risk.

 

Unlike the Army, who has no trouble throwing away lives in their pursuit for dominance.

 

He’s at least in the air when Jarvis tells him that he has a priority message coming through that means top brass, probably the guy that sent the pilot out in the first place. Tony answers, although he has no desire to talk to that guy.

 

“This is General Thaddeus Ross!” the man shouts after Tony answers. “I’m in command of this op and we’ve got a fix on your position! You are ordered to land at Cairo West Air Base immediately! And you’d better not try any—”

 

Tony stops him there. “General, you sound like you’re going to have a coronary, and that’s not something I want on my conscience. I’ll see you in Egypt.”

 

He puts on as much speed as he can, although not because he’s anxious to see Ross. He wants to get the pilot medical attention as soon as possible. He might just make a full recovery that way.

 

Tony’s not surprised to see people waiting for him, although it’s a little unnerving. He doesn’t trust the Army, and he thinks it likely that one of these days they’ll make a play for the suit, and probably the arc reactor, since the suit isn’t much good without it.

 

He hides his uneasiness by facing it head on. “The welcome wagon, nice,” Tony says, keeping the faceplate down. “After what he’s been through, he could use a little hospitality.”

 

At least there are medics waiting, and Tony sets the pilot down on the waiting gurney. “Careful, he’s in shock. Guys, spare no expense. Anything the Air Force won’t spring for, I will.”

 

Only then does he turn to General Ross. After three hours in the air, Jarvis has had plenty of time to dig up all the dirt.

 

Tony knows how to play things close to the vest, though. “So, General Ross, I presume. You’ve got something to say to me?”

 

Ross seems to be perpetually angry, and he shouts, “Sats picked up a shootout with the Congolese Army, and you don’t return fire! Someone fires on an American, that American fires back!”

 

Tony flips up his faceplate. “Yeah, that’s what I figured you guys wanted me to do. That is, if Hammer’s folly couldn’t do the job for you first.”

 

Ross doesn’t back down. “Don’t confuse the issue, Stark! I know you’ve been distancing yourself from your father’s legacy. You claim you don’t make weapons, and yet, you _are_ a weapon.”

 

Tony isn’t about to let some two-bit general worry him. “Interesting analysis of my life’s work. You know, on my way over here, I decided to research _you_. Did a little digging and pulled up your file. You have quite a resume. You’ve had your fingers in a lot of pies. Genetic enhancements for military exploitation. Pretty advanced for a sacred cow like you. Not to mention dicey. Admit it, you wanted to see me up close in action.”

 

He knows the Army wants the suit. They wanted to see what they were getting, or maybe what they were planning to steal.

 

Going by Ross’ record, Tony knows he’s more than capable of doing so. Still, he doesn’t mind drawing a line in the sand.

 

“And, just so you know, if I hear of another innocent being put in harm’s way just to advance some pointless military agenda, there will be consequences,” Tony warns.

 

Those words will come back to haunt him later—not because he didn’t mean it at the time, but because he finds another person who fits that criteria.

 

And because getting Bruce Banner free of the Army’s clutches is a lot more complicated than rescuing a downed pilot.

 

 

**Los Diablos Military Base, New Mexico, June 2011**

 

For the first time, Bruce isn’t looking forward to seeing Stark. He’s on edge and antsy, Kimball’s threat echoing in his ears.

 

Bruce wouldn’t put it past Kimball to hold Stark down and rip the arc reactor out of his chest right in front of him, just to prove a point. He’s not sure whether Kimball had turned the sound back on in the lab, or if he can rely on his own work anymore.

 

Stark swaggers inside with that shit eating grin, and he says, “Banner! How’d you sleep?”

 

“Just fine,” Bruce lies, as though he hadn’t been awake all night. He lets his eyes dart to the camera in the corner. “We should probably get to work.”

 

Stark narrows his eyes briefly, and then smiles. “What else am I here for? Have I ever told you about the first AI I built?”

 

“I think you might have mentioned it,” Bruce says with a frown. “I’m not sure what that has to do with the job, though.”

 

“That AI is the basis for the targeting system we’re using,” Stark replies. “I figure you should probably know the ins and outs if you have to duplicate our work at some point.”

 

Bruce realizes that Stark has gotten the message loud and clear, and he’s making a real show of it for an audience. “Yeah, that would be good.”

 

“In a few more days, I’ll have worn out my welcome,” Stark says with a smile, although Bruce thinks it might be forced. “And you’ll have to finish this without me.”

 

Bruce thinks that maybe Stark has seen the way the wind blows, and knows he needs to leave before things get worse for him. He seems to have given up on the idea of bringing Bruce with him, and that’s probably for the best.

 

It’s better if Bruce stays here, safer for Stark certainly, and safer for the world.

 

He can find a way to make sure Kimball never has the chance to do what he threatened. There has to be a way to make sure he’s dead before Kimball can lobotomize him, and turn him into a weapon.

 

“There’s something you can do for me before you leave,” Bruce says lightly.

 

“Name it,” Stark replies.

 

Bruce glances up at the camera surreptitiously, not knowing if it’s safe to ask.

 

“Oh, have you heard this song?” Stark asks. “Because it’s awesome.”

 

He plugs a tiny flash drive into one of the USB ports, one that’s hard to see, and he cranks up the music. After a few seconds, Bruce recognizes Black Sabbath’s “Iron Man.” He can’t help but grin.

 

The volume is loud enough to cover anything they might say, and maybe that’s a sure sign Bruce is saying something they’d otherwise want to hear, but he’s willing to take the risk to get what he needs.

 

“What is it?” Stark asks.

 

“I need cyanide,” Bruce replies frankly.

 

“Are you going to poison Kimball?” Stark asks. “Because I can get on board with that.”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I—he wants to lobotomize me, trigger the Other Guy, and make me into a weapon of mass destruction. I think it’s only a matter of time until he does it.”

 

Horror flashes in Stark’s eyes. “I could help you escape.”

 

“And then no one will be safe,” Bruce counters. “It’s for the best this way, you know? Please, Tony.”

 

It’s the first time he’s used Stark’s first name, and Stark responds by putting a hand on his hip so the cameras won’t see. “I promise that I will put you beyond their reach, no matter what it takes.”

 

Bruce doesn’t think that means Stark’s going to bring him a means to kill himself, but he believes him. He believes that Stark isn’t going to leave here until he’s sure Bruce is safe.

 

He’s not entirely sure why, but Bruce trusts him.

 

~~~~~

 

“I’ll make the switch today,” Barton says as they approach the base. “How long do you think we’ll have?”

 

Tony thinks about it for a minute. “That depends on when we need him, and how good his control is without the drugs. And it depends on what kind of side effects he’s going to have to deal with.”

 

“So, what you’re saying is that he could go off any day after this, and we should just be ready?” Barton says incredulously.

 

He shrugs. “I’ve got an educated guess. I think Banner’s control is better than they all think. The drugs are experimental, and the combination isn’t one normally used. My guess is that we’ve got two, maybe three days before he starts feeling the effects, and even then, it might take a bomb going off under him to make him change.”

 

“What if it happens when we’re not there?” Romanoff asks.

 

Tony’s thought about that, but he thinks Banner’s control might actually be pretty decent. If it weren’t, there would be a lot more dead bodies.

 

Maybe he’s read the situation wrong, but he doesn’t think he has.

 

“We’ll have to hope we’re around when he turns,” Tony replies. “I think it’s going to take something a little more than just switching out his meds to get a transformation.”

 

Tony can’t help but remember the expression on Banner’s face when he’d asked for the cyanide, or talked about how Kimball planned to lobotomize him to turn him into the perfect weapon.

 

It’s a fucking nightmare, as far as Tony is concerned, and the sooner they get Banner out, the better off they’ll be.

 

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Romanoff says. “But that means you’re going to be in the lab with him when he turns.”

 

“I’ve seen the data,” Tony says. “I’ll have at least a minute to get into the armor. I’ll just need you to get the briefcase into the lab.”

 

“Not a problem,” she promises. “Collins will help with that.”

 

Security has been a lot tighter over the last few days, and Tony isn’t stupid. Kimball probably knows that, even if they aren’t planning a rescue, they want something more. In the last two days, Banner has passed along most of Kimball’s conversation, and Tony knows that something has to change.

 

Even if he didn’t want to rescue Banner because he likes the guy—which he definitely does—he’d do it because of the promise he’d made Ross six months ago. He’s going to save Banner—and the Army isn’t going to like the results.

 

“You okay?” Tony asks in an undertone. Banner hasn’t complained about his music choices, and it serves as a good cover for their conversations.

 

Banner shrugs. “Yeah, he’s backed off. I’m good. Are you going to be able to get that thing for me?”

 

“I’ll take care of you,” Tony promises. “One way or another.”

 

“I don’t want you hurt,” Banner says.

 

“Don’t worry about me,” Tony replies. “I’m well versed in looking after myself.”

 

Banner doesn’t appear convinced. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

 

“Don’t worry about that,” Tony says. “I’m rather attached to my own skin.”

 

Banner almost cracks a smile at that. “I guess. I just wanted to be sure you were okay.”

 

“Don’t worry about me,” Tony replies. “And I’ll make sure you’re okay before I leave, too. I swear it, Banner.”

 

Banner lets out a breath. “Okay. Thanks.”

 

“Thank me later,” Tony replies. “After you’re out of the Army’s reach.”

 

He’s deliberately coy about that response, knowing that Bruce won’t agree to escape with them, and will draw his own conclusions.

 

Banner glances at him out of the corner of his eye, like he knows something is up, but he doesn’t ask any questions, maybe because he’s still worried about Kimball listening in, although that’s unlikely with AC/DC blaring in the background.

 

Tony catches him fiddling with the black box on his wrist, and he knows that Banner is due for a refill today, probably after Tony leaves for the day. If all goes well, Barton will have switched out the dose with the placebo, and in a few days, the drugs will have started to fade from his system.

 

The biggest problem that Tony can foresee is the withdrawal symptoms. He has no idea what they’ll be, since they’re in uncharted territory.

 

He just hopes that Banner forgives him for fucking with his head again. Banner has enough of that, and Tony doesn’t want to add to the trauma, but there isn’t much of a choice.

 

Of course, he’s going to have to figure out a way to trigger the Hulk, hopefully in a way that doesn’t result in getting flattened.

 

Tony is gambling on the possibility that the Hulk might be slightly less dangerous when Banner likes the person in question.

 

He just hopes he’s right.

 

~~~~~

 

Bruce watches impassively as the lab tech refills the injector on the wristband, the one that delivers a steady stream of medication into his bloodstream, keeping the Other Guy quiet.

 

He wonders sometimes what else the medication is doing to him; he’s fairly sure that Kimball used it to get into Bruce’s head, to make him for susceptible to suggestion and manipulation. Bruce tries to fight that, too, but he doesn’t know how successful he’s been.

 

How could he know? How could he possibly know how deep Kimball put his hooks into him?

 

If Stark keeps his promise, Bruce won’t have to find out, because he’ll be beyond Kimball’s reach. One more week, and then Stark will be gone, and Bruce will be dead.

 

That thought offers the first glimmer of hope Bruce has had for a long time.

 

He doesn’t sleep well that night, although he’s not sure why. He’s just restless and uncomfortable, his thoughts racing.

 

When Collins comes to get him the next morning, he peers at Bruce in concern. “Are you okay, Dr. Banner?”

 

“Didn’t sleep well,” Bruce explains briefly. “I’ll be fine.”

 

He’s not at his best that day, that’s for sure. Bruce finds it almost impossible to concentrate, and finds himself staring at nothing, completely zoned out, more than a few times. He loses his train of thought mid-sentence, and makes several stupid errors in his math, which doesn’t usually happen.

 

Stark doesn’t call him out on it, though. He fills the silences and finishes Bruce’s sentences when he trails off. He spots Bruce’s mistakes and quietly corrects them, without calling attention to the fact that he’s doing so.

 

Bruce knows that something is off, that Stark shouldn’t be so accommodating, but he doesn’t dare ask why. There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to know the answer, and another part that thinks he already does.

 

Stark had promised to get him out, to put him beyond the reach of the Army. The auto-injector had been refilled yesterday. Bruce had started noticing changes last night.

 

Even at his diminished capacity, the math isn’t difficult.

 

As usual, Tony has managed to sneak in snacks, this time dried cranberries covered in dark chocolate. The sheer pleasure of the tart, bittersweet treat feels _real_ in a way that nothing else does at the moment.

 

“Only a few more days,” Stark says quietly. “Do you think you understand the AI targeting system?”

 

Bruce tries to shake off his lethargy. “Yeah. I think so.”

 

Stark taps Bruce on the forehead. “It has to stay up here. I’ve put up safeguards so that I’m the only person who can access the files.”

 

“What about me?” Bruce asks, feeling momentarily hurt.

 

Stark smirks at him. “What do you think Kimball’s superiors will do when they find out that their precious plans are encrypted in such a way that only I can access it, or play ball with you, because you’ve got them in your head?”

 

It doesn’t take Bruce long to figure out what Stark has done. If they don’t bring Stark back in to access the files, they’ll have to rely on Bruce’s memory.

 

And if they lobotomize Bruce, they’ll lose all access.

 

“Oh,” Bruce murmurs. “That’s brilliant.”

 

“You wouldn’t think so if you weren’t feeling so fuzzy right now, but that’s okay,” Stark says. “I won’t leave you unprotected, I can promise you that.”

 

Bruce had been certain that death was the only way out, but maybe there’s another option, at least in the short term. “But you’ll still bring what we talked about.”

 

“Of course,” Stark promises. “Always good to have an insurance policy, right?”

 

The next couple of days, things get worse. Bruce’s skin begins to crawl, he can’t sleep for more than a few minutes at a time, and he starts hearing things. Collins looks more and more worried every morning, and he finally says, “Maybe I should call Dr. Kimball.”

 

“No, please,” Bruce begs hoarsely. Kimball has left him alone since his threats, and Bruce doesn’t want to see him again. “It’s just a bad spell.”

 

“It might be a bad reaction,” Collins protests.

 

Bruce shakes his head. “Please, Sergeant. I can’t.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Collins says. “Look, I’m taking half a day off today, but if you want me to stick around—”

 

“Is everything okay?” Bruce manages to ask.

 

Collins pats him on the shoulder. “Just a vacation day, doc. Don’t worry about me. They know how to reach me if you need me, though.”

 

“Thanks, Sarge,” Bruce replies with real gratitude. “That’s—”

 

He can’t think of the right words, and Collins looks even more worried, but he looks determined. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

 

Bruce believes him, and he allows himself to be delivered to his lab, where Stark is waiting for him.

 

“There you are,” Stark says cheerfully. “Are you feeling any better today?”

 

“Not really,” he says honestly. “I’m not sure what’s wrong.”

 

“You don’t want to see the doctor?” Stark asks, peering at Bruce intently.

 

Bruce shudders. “No.”

 

“Very well,” Stark replies. “We’ll just get as much work done as we can today.”

 

Stark is curiously solicitous that day, as he’d been the last few days. He doesn’t seem to mind that Bruce is distracted and unable to concentrate, and he just follows along behind, correcting Bruce’s mistakes, finishing his thoughts, a quiet prop.

 

He should probably have expected that they’d make the rescue attempt that day, but the first inkling he has is when he hears an explosion. “What—” Bruce begins.

 

“Do you trust me?” Stark asks.

 

Bruce shouldn’t; he knows that he shouldn’t, because he can’t really trust anybody, but God help him, he does. “Yes.”

 

“Then trust me,” Stark says, his voice intense. “It’s going to be okay.”

 

Another explosion hits, this time closer, and Bruce’s heart rate shoots up, and he knows—he _knows_ —that the drugs aren’t going to keep the Other Guy at bay. “Stark—Tony—I’m not—”

 

“You do what you have to, Big Guy,” Tony replies, retreating to the other side of the lab. “I’ll be okay.”

 

And Bruce sees the briefcase on the floor, and it unfolds before his eyes, encasing Stark in his trademark armor. There’s another explosion, this one blowing out one of the walls of the lab, and Bruce knows no more.

 

~~~~~

 

Tony gets into the armor, and it’s not a moment too soon. From Banner’s files, the Army had managed to trigger the Hulk a few times, but he’d never made it off the base. That means he’s been imprisoned just as long as Banner has.

 

Hulk roars and smashes the table next to him, the shreds of Banner’s fatigues falling away.

 

Tony stays right where he is, hoping like hell that the Hulk doesn’t see him as a threat. The Mark V will offer some protection, but it wasn’t built to stand up to a full assault like the one the Hulk could present.

 

The Hulk casts about restlessly, a giant grin fist slamming down onto another lab bench, the computer sparking as he destroys the monitor. He roars again, and then stops when he sees Tony.

 

“Hey, Big Guy,” Tony begins, holding his hands up in surrender. “Great to finally meet you.”

 

The Hulk’s eyes narrow, and Tony braces himself, wondering if it would do more good to take the hit, or dodge it and hope that the Hulk will listen to reason. “Metal man,” the Hulk grunts.

 

Tony flips up his faceplate. “I’m your friend.”

 

The Hulk grunts.

 

“Don’t you want to get out of here?” Tony coaxes. “We can. We can just walk right out of here and never come back.”

 

“Use Hulk.” He’s not smashing Tony, though, so that’s probably a good sign.

 

Tony shakes his head. “Not if I can help it. What do you say? It can be you and me against the world.”

 

The door opens and six soldiers in black tactical gear enter the lab, and they immediately open fire. That seems to decide matters for the Hulk, because he strides forward, putting his bulk between the soldiers and Tony, and sweeps them out of the way with one swing of his arm. The bullets don’t even faze him, and he doesn’t bother with the door so much as make a new one.

 

“Barton, Romanoff, come in,” Tony says.

 

“We’re with you,” Barton replies. “I take it the placebo worked.”

 

“Or didn’t, depending on your point of view,” Tony agrees. “How’s the mission going?”

 

“We’re working on destroying all of the samples now,” Romanoff replies. “We think we’ve located all of them, and Barton has deployed your Trojan.”

 

Tony smirks. “Excellent.”

 

He’s still following the Hulk down the hall, watching as he breaks through the plaster on either side, since he’s too wide to fit without damage. Tony has decided to let the Hulk set the pace and the agenda; he’ll shrink down to Banner eventually, and then they can get a lift to the secluded location where they’ll be spending the next couple of months.

 

Tony had already conceded that they’d need to lie low for a while, partly to avoid giving the Army a reason to come after them, and partly to give Banner the chance to get control without the drugs.

 

“Did you pick up Banner’s medications?” Tony asks as the Hulk careens around a corner, hearing yet more gunfire.

 

“Got it,” Romanoff replies, sounding a little breathless. “It’s getting hot, Stark.”

 

“Go,” Tony replies. “I’ll make sure Banner gets to the extraction point.”

 

He hears shouting behind him and turns to face the soldiers that are trying to hem them in. Tony doesn’t give them a chance to open fire, blasting them with his repulsors first, and they fly back. It’s not quite full power, but it’s enough to leave them with some massive bruising and probably a few broken ribs.

 

The Hulk roars again, and it’s a slightly different sound. Tony rounds the corner to see Hulk tearing through a door, the soldiers who had been firing on him scattered around like broken dolls. The door flies past Tony, and he catches sight of the nameplate: Dr. Kimball.

 

Apparently, Tony’s hunch had been right. Hulk remembers Banner’s friends—and his enemies.

 

“Now, now,” Tony hears just before the Hulk roars again, and then there’s the sound of crashing, and a cry of pain, and more crashing.

 

The room is basically big enough for the Hulk and not much else, so Tony turns to make sure no one sneaks up on them.

 

It’s probably only a couple of minutes later when the Hulk backs out of the room, and Tony’s pretty sure he sees a couple of splashes of blood on his green skin, but it might be for the best.

 

With Kimball dead, the samples destroyed, and the data corrupted, the Army might be less inclined to go after Banner again, especially if they think the drugs failed.

 

“Ready to blow this joint, Big Guy?” Tony asks.

 

The Hulk grunts. “Nowhere to go.”

 

“Sure we do,” Tony replies. “I know a quiet place we can go where no one will bother us. It’ll just be you and me, and no soldiers to annoy you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because we’re friends, and if we stick together, the Army can’t get to either of us, right?”

 

Tony waits for Hulk to make his decision, because he knows that it has to be _his_ decision. If Tony can’t convince him, he’ll just have to follow Hulk until he gets Banner back, and Banner is going to be a hard sell.

 

“Hulk trust Metal Man,” he finally growls.

 

Behind his mask, Tony grins. “Great. Make a hole, Big Guy. We gotta get moving.”

 

Hulk bares his teeth in what Tony thinks is a grin, and he smashes through the wall, making a hole large enough for both of them.


	2. The Hope That's Unspoken

**Outside Los Diablos Military Base, New Mexico, June 2011**

 

Bruce returns to himself slowly, every muscle screaming in protest as he shifts. He remembers explosions, a rising anger, and Stark’s insistence that Bruce trust him, and then—

 

“Oh, fuck,” he says without opening his eyes.

 

“There you are.”

 

Bruce’s eyes fly open, and he sees Stark leaning over him, still in his armor, but with the faceplate flipped up. He’s looking far too cheerful for someone who just met the Other Guy. “You did this.”

 

“Technically, all I did was follow you out,” Stark counters. “Although I may have helped come up with the plan.”

 

“What plan?” Bruce asks.

 

“The plan for your rescue,” Stark replies. “Speaking of which, we need to get moving. I let the Other Guy choose the direction, but our extraction point is about twenty miles away, and we have a limited amount of time.”

 

Bruce wants to be angry. Hell, he _is_ angry, but it’s different. It’s not a hopeless sort of anger. “This was a really fucking stupid idea, for the record,” he says flatly, slowly getting to his feet. His clothing is long gone, and he’d probably be embarrassed if he weren’t so tired and hungry.

 

“You said it yourself, Big Guy,” Stark replies. “Kimball was going to lobotomize you eventually. It was either death or escape.”

 

“You could have been killed!” Bruce shouts.

 

Stark smiles. “So nice to know you care. Also, not likely, since the Other Guy likes me. We had a nice moment.”

 

Bruce swipes at something sticky on his chest, and shudders when he realizes that it’s blood. “What—”

 

“Kimball,” Stark says briefly.

 

Bruce has no idea how he feels about that—relief, certainly, but also an aching emptiness, because he doesn’t remember, and he wants to. There’s a part of him that wishes he’d been the one to pull the trigger, because then he would have been able to watch Kimball die.

 

“No time to think about it or ask questions,” Stark says. “We really do have to get moving, and I don’t get as much power with this suit as with the Mark VI.”

 

Bruce flushes as he realizes that it means Stark will be carrying him, while he’s naked as the day he was born. “Uh, yeah. How—”

 

Stark smirks at him. “Just hang on, Banner. I won’t drop you.”

 

He doesn’t see another option, so he puts his arms around Stark’s armored shoulders and locks his hands together. Stark, the bastard, picks him up in a bridal carry and takes off.

 

Bruce keeps his eyes shut for the duration of the flight, and he can just hear Stark’s muffled voice over the rushing of wind past his ears. He seems to be talking to someone else, and Bruce can only assume that he had help in this endeavor.

 

He opens his eyes when Stark lands, but quickly closes them again when he feels the sting of sand against his face and on his bare skin. Someone throws an emergency blanket over him—Bruce can tell by the texture—shielding his face.

 

“I’m flying under my own power, but I’ll meet you at the rendezvous,” Stark shouts. “Don’t worry, Romanoff and Barton will look after you.”

 

Bruce balks briefly. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

 

“Trust me!” Stark shouts, and then someone pushes him up, into the helicopter.

 

Bruce wraps the blanket tightly around himself and looks around. There’s a young woman with red hair sitting across from him, and she wordlessly hands him a headset and a pile of clothing. He vaguely recognizes her as Stark’s assistant “I didn’t think you’d want to wear fatigues, so I brought you some of Stark’s clothes,” she shouts over the sound of the engine.

 

“He won’t mind?” Bruce asks, although he’s already pulling on a pair of pants, not wanting to be naked any longer than he has to. He puts on the headset so he can actually talk to her without shouting.

 

She shakes her head. “Do you need a sedative?”

 

It’s a fair question, and something Bruce considers briefly. “Maybe. Do you have one?” he asks as he pulls the shirt on, the feeling of starched cotton reassuring.

 

Bruce hasn’t worn a shirt like this in _years_ —and he deliberately shuts down that line of thinking.

 

“It won’t put you out, but it might take the edge off,” she replies, holding up a hypo.

 

Bruce isn’t sure he could transform again so soon, but he’s in a helicopter, with people he doesn’t know, and there’s no black box on his wrist pumping a constant stream of chemicals into his blood. He has no idea what triggers the Other Guy, or how to control it, because he’s never been given the opportunity to find out.

 

Someone else has been holding the leash all these years, and Bruce has no idea what to do with this newfound freedom.

 

“Yeah,” he finally says, thankful at least that she’d asked first. She could have just assumed.

 

Some unnamed emotion flickers across her face, and she says, “Do you want to do it, or should I?”

 

Bruce shudders. “I will.”

 

He doesn’t know how to feel as he presses it to the side of his neck and depresses the trigger, feeling a sharp pinch and then relief.

 

Bruce hadn’t even thought about the fact that he’d been going through withdrawal symptoms on top of everything else, although he should have. Whatever is in the hypo does indeed take the edge off—alleviating the headache that had been a constant companion over the last few days, calming his nerves, and easing the tremors in his hands.

 

“I’m Agent Romanoff,” she says through the headset when Bruce hands the hypo back to her. “Our co-pilot today is Agent Barton, and Agent Summers is our getaway driver.”

 

“Where are we going?” Bruce asks.

 

Romanoff shrugs. “We’re taking you to an airfield where you’ll meet up with Stark’s private jet, and then to an isolated location.”

 

Bruce feels a sharp spike of anxiety, and begins taking deep breaths. “Where you’ll do what with me?”

 

“Personally, I’m hoping you fuck each other silly. Stark’s been mooning over you for the last week and a half.” The co-pilot—Barton—turns in his seat. “But don’t tell him I said so.”

 

His off-color, off-hand comment causes Bruce to let out a bark of disbelieving laughter, and the tension dissolves. “I promise I won’t say anything.”

 

“Relax, doc,” Barton says. “You’re safe now.”

 

Bruce only wishes he could believe it.

 

**Outside Los Diablos Military Base, New Mexico, June 2011**

 

“There’s something else we need to talk about before we implement the plan,” Romanoff says the day before they’re planning to break Banner out.

 

Tony leans back in his seat. “I’m listening.”

 

“We need to talk about deprogramming techniques.” Romanoff is sitting in one of the chairs, while Barton lounges on his bed. “If you insist on being alone with Banner, we need to talk about how you’re going to get through to him.”

 

“I’ve already gotten through to him,” Tony protests. “We’ve been working together for nearly two weeks now.”

 

Barton sits up. “This is different, Stark. Kimball’s had almost six years to get inside Banner’s head. You saw the evidence. The transition is going to be tough, and that’s not even taking into consideration the drug withdrawals.”

 

Tony sighs. “Those have been bad.”

 

“Once we get Banner out of there, he’ll probably need something to get him through that,” Romanoff says. “I’ve sent the info we gathered on what they’ve been giving Banner to SHIELD’s labs, and they’ve created a sedative that will help ease the symptoms and make it less likely that he’ll transform, but won’t suppress the Hulk completely.”

 

Tony frowns. “I’m not drugging him without his permission.”

 

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t ask for permission,” Romanoff replies. “In fact, the best way to get through to him is to give him a choice every single time he has to make a decision. He’s probably going to get frustrated by that.”

 

“Because he hasn’t had a lot of choices,” Tony says, the light dawning.

 

Barton nods. “When that happens, help him out, but make it a suggestion. Banner might not even realize how badly they’ve fucked with his head.”

 

“Introduce the information that Banner hasn’t killed anybody slowly,” Romanoff instructs. “He already knows that Betty Ross isn’t dead. See if you can wait until he asks about her, and about the others. When he starts questioning, go slowly, don’t overwhelm him.”

 

Tony’s starting to get frustrated. “You guys haven’t spent any time with him. He’s not as broken as you think.”

 

“Not broken, wounded,” Barton says. “The Army fucked him up, and you have to unfuck him, but you’ve never had to do anything like this before.”

 

“Have you?” Tony challenges.

 

“No, but we’ve both been on the other side of things,” Romanoff says. “You can play it by ear if you want, and maybe you’ll succeed, but you can remove him from that base physically without him ever leaving.”

 

Tony thinks of the cave in Afghanistan, of how sometimes in his dreams he can smell the smoke of their fire, the food Yinsen made, and welded metal. He thinks of the pain in his chest when he dreams of Obadiah paralyzing him and ripping out the arc reactor, and waking up in a cold sweat only to discover that the pain is real.

 

“True enough,” Tony admits. “Any more advice?”

 

Romanoff’s expression softens. “Be patient. He’s going to be angry, and you’re going to have to build trust.”

 

Tony snorts. “I know _that_.”

 

“Then keep it in mind when he turns into a total asshole,” Barton says, “and I don’t mean when he turns green.”

 

“If you need any help, call us,” Romanoff insists. “SHIELD has experts for this kind of thing.”

 

Tony shakes his head stubbornly. “We won’t need them, and you know Banner isn’t going to trust them. At least he knows me. I can work with that.”

 

“Let’s hope so,” Romanoff says. “Otherwise, it’s going to be tough to figure out what to do with him.”

 

“Leave that to me,” Tony replies. “I’ll make sure he’s taken care of, one way or another.”

 

Barton raises his eyebrows. “If he lets you.”

 

“He’ll let me,” Tony insists. “You haven’t seen me at my most persuasive.”

 

**Albuquerque, New Mexico/Marion Island, June 2011**

 

Tony immediately regrets leaving Banner in Romanoff and Barton’s capable hands. He trusts them—mostly—but he also knows they have the data needed to keep the Hulk under control. It’s at least possible that SHIELD has their own plans for the Hulk, that they’d used Tony to get Banner out, and now that he’s done so, they’ll follow their own agenda.

 

And maybe he’s being a little too suspicious, but he has trust issues, particularly after Obadiah had turned on him. Sure, it felt as though they’d become something of a team over the last couple of weeks, but Tony knows he’s being used.

 

The question is, how much?

 

He’s secured a private hangar at the Albuquerque airport, and a landing spot for the helicopter, and he’s stowed the suit. Now he’s just waiting for Barton and Romanoff to show.

 

If they show.

 

He hears the helicopter before he sees it, and he rocks back on his heels, shoving his hands in his pockets, making a play at nonchalance. The wind from the rotors whips his hair and clothing, but he stays put as it shuts down.

 

Romanoff is the first to exit, and she turns to look behind her as Banner steps down, wearing a pair of Tony’s slacks and one of his dress shirts, his bare feet incongruous as he steps gingerly onto the hot tarmac.

 

Tony’s glad he thought to stock up on clothing, along with everything else, and his shoes should fit Banner well enough. Of course, where they’re going, Tony figures they can wear as much or as little clothing as they want.

 

Barton jumps down out of the co-pilot’s seat and grabs a large duffel bag from the passenger compartment, and he follows Romanoff and Banner as they approach Tony.

 

“Good to see you again, Dr. Banner,” Tony says.

 

Banner gives him a sardonic look. “I’m wearing your clothes. I think you can call me Bruce.”

 

“Tony,” he replies. “Are you ready to take a trip?”

 

Bruce shrugs. “Do I have a choice?”

 

Tony looks him in the eye. “Yes, you do. As far as I’m concerned, you can get on the jet, tell the pilot where you want to go, and disappear if that’s really what you want.”

 

“What’s my other option?” Bruce asks.

 

“We get on the plane, and we go to a private island I’ve rented,” Tony replies. “You have a chance to figure out what triggers the Hulk, and maybe get control. And then you can figure out where to go after that.”

 

Bruce stares down at the ground. “I’m still not sure that means I have a choice.”

 

“I can fund your disappearance,” Tony offers.

 

Bruce finally looks up to meet Tony’s eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

 

“Because you needed my help, and because I happen to like you,” Tony replies, hoping that Bruce can see his sincerity. “Because you didn’t deserve to be in a cage.”

 

“I have blood on my hands,” Bruce says.

 

“Join the club,” Tony replies.

 

Bruce lets out a breath. “Okay.”

 

“Okay to what?”

 

“Okay to the chance to get some control,” Bruce replies. “I have to.”

 

Tony nods. “All right, then. Let’s get going.”

 

Barton hands Tony the duffel bag. “Hope you don’t mind, doc, but I got a few things from your quarters on the base. Didn’t think you’d want the uniforms, but I grabbed your personal effects.”

 

Bruce looks surprised. “I didn’t think you’d have time.”

 

“We made time,” Romanoff replies. “It didn’t take long.”

 

He scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, it wouldn’t have. Um, you wouldn’t know what happened to Sergeant Collins, do you?”

 

“He got out,” Barton replies. “We made sure of it. That’s why he took the afternoon off.”

 

Relief crosses Bruce’s face. “Thanks. He was—he was good to me.”

 

“He was very fond of you, Dr. Banner,” Romanoff says. “He helped us get you out.”

 

Bruce frowns. “He’s not going to get in trouble, is he?”

 

“We’ll make sure he’s protected,” Barton assures him. “Take care, doc.”

 

“Yeah, you too,” Bruce says vaguely.

 

Tony puts a hand on Bruce’s shoulder to lead him into the airplane and feels him flinch. He pulls back immediately. “Not okay?”

 

“Sorry,” Bruce says, sounding miserable. “I’m sorry. I’m just—tired.”

 

“Hungry?” Tony suggests. “Because I have some food on the jet, and there’s a place where you can stretch out. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us.”

 

Bruce runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to eat much the last few days.”

 

“Yeah, sorry about that, withdrawal is a bitch,” Tony replies. “Romanoff gave you something to get you over the hump, though, right?”

 

Bruce nods. “It’s not going to last forever.”

 

“I’ve got more,” Tony says. “The instructions say no more than every six hours, but it’s up to you when you want to take it.”

 

Bruce stands in the plane, rubbing his hands on his borrowed pants. “I don’t—I’m not sure what to do.”

 

“First off, have a seat,” Tony replies. “We’ll be leaving in a few minutes, and the pilot gets a little cranky when we’re not buckled in during take off.”

 

That seems to get Bruce moving, and he selects a seat at the front and buckles his seatbelt. Tony can see that his hands are shaking, and he wishes there were something he could do make this easier. He knows that it’s going to take time, though, and he sits down across from Bruce.

 

“Food should be along once we reach cruising altitude,” Tony says.

 

Bruce nods, staring out the window. “Yeah, thanks.”

 

“You okay?”

 

“Yeah,” he replies. “No. I don’t know. This is—too much.” Bruce wrings his hands together, and Tony can see his pulse jumping in his throat.

 

“As much as I liked the Other Guy, I don’t think now is a good time for him to show up,” Tony says quietly. “You close?”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so, but—I don’t know. I don’t know my own triggers, Stark, or how to stop it, and I—”

 

He’s getting worked up, and Tony decides to take a risk. He reaches out and grabs Bruce’s hands. “Call me Tony,” he insists. “Tell me about that paper you wrote on anti-electron collisions.”

 

“You’ve read it,” Bruce objects.

 

“Sure, I’ve read it, but I don’t know what led you down that path,” Tony says. “How did you come up with your hypothesis? What interested you? Why that and not something else?”

 

He can feel Bruce’s hands relax. “I don’t know. It was just—the elegance of it, the way it all fit together.”

 

Bruce begins hesitantly, but once he gets going, his face lights up and he pulls his hands free to gesture. When the flight attendant brings their food—thick sandwiches and gourmet potato chips, something that would keep until they could eat it—Bruce speaks between bites with occasional input from Tony.

 

By the time he’s finished his sandwich, Bruce appears to be a lot more relaxed, and he starts yawning.

 

“Bed’s in the back,” Tony says. “Go catch a few hours of sleep.”

 

Bruce blinks. “Right. I could use it.” He stands and nearly stumbles, but Tony catches him.

 

“You need some help?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce shakes his head. “No, but—thanks. I don’t think I’ve said that yet.”

 

“It was truly my pleasure,” Tony replies. “I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

 

“Where are we going?” Bruce asks quietly.

 

Tony smiles. “A little private island off the coast of Florida. You’re going to love it.”

 

~~~~~

 

Bruce welcomes the reprieve that sleep brings, the chance to not think for a while, but he pauses when he realizes that the door locks from the inside.

 

He could lock the door, and maybe Tony could force his way inside, but Bruce doesn’t think he will.

 

His hand hovers over the lock, and then he sets his jaw and leaves it alone, trusting that Tony will at least knock before he enters—and mean it.

 

Trust has to start somewhere. Right?

 

Bruce removes his shirt but isn’t quite comfortable enough to do the same with his pants, hoping that Tony won’t mind getting them back rumpled.

 

He curls up under the covers, sinking into a mattress that is more comfortable than Bruce can ever remember sleeping on. If this is how Tony outfits his private jet, Bruce isn’t sure what he’s going to do with Tony’s opulent lifestyle.

 

On the other hand, it’s so much better than he could have dreamed, he knows it’s real.

 

Bruce isn’t sure he’ll be able to sleep right away, but he’s out as soon as his head touches the pillow, and for once his sleep is dreamless.

 

He wakes when someone knocks on the door. “Hey, Bruce? We’ve landed. Take your time.”

 

Bruce rubs his eyes and runs a hand through his hair, knowing that he probably looks a mess. He longs for a shower, a long, hot, endless shower, but figures that’s going to take some time.

 

When he steps out of the back room, Tony’s bent over a tablet. “Did you sleep okay?” he asks without looking up.

 

“Yeah, it was great,” Bruce admits.

 

“I found some shoes and socks for you, if you don’t mind borrowing mine,” Tony says.

 

Bruce feels a little weird wearing Tony’s clothes, and his shoes, but it’s not like he has much of his own, and Barton had been right. Bruce has no interest in wearing fatigues, and he doesn’t own many things—a couple of pictures, and a few books he’d been given by Collins over the years.

 

It’s one of the reasons he’d agreed to come with Tony—he doesn’t have the resources to go on the run at the moment. And Tony had met the Other Guy and walked away unscathed. With his armor, Tony stands a better chance than most in Bruce’s company, even if he’s apparently unstable—anybody who would willingly be in a room with the Other Guy has to be insane.

 

When Bruce is fully dressed, Tony shuts down his tablet and looks up with a smile. “Ready?”

 

“I guess,” Bruce replies.

 

“Feeling okay, or do you need something else?”

 

Bruce debates. After food and rest, he’s feeling better, and not so shaky. “If I do, I’ll let you know.”

 

“I can give you the meds for when you need them,” Tony offers.

 

Bruce hesitates. He would feel better if the medications were under his control, but then again, he’s not sure he can trust himself not to take it all at once, to do what he’d already told Tony he’d planned on doing.

 

For the first time in years, though, Bruce feels some hope.

 

“No, you keep them,” he replies. “I don’t know that I trust myself.”

 

Something flickers in Tony’s eyes, but all he says is, “Thank you for trusting me. Anything I can do for you, I will.”

 

“Thanks. Again.” Bruce runs his hand through his hair again. “I’m probably going to be saying that a lot.”

 

“Let’s just say that you’ve given a blanket thank you for any services I might render in the future and call it good,” Tony suggests. “Come on. We have a seaplane to catch.”

 

Bruce can do nothing but follow, because Tony’s offer is still the best one he’s had. And he feels safe with Tony.

 

They have a short drive from the private hangar to the pier where the seaplane is docked. The pilot doesn’t say anything as he helps the driver load their things, and Bruce follows Tony into the passenger area.

 

“Still doing okay?”

 

The smaller plane is making Bruce a little claustrophobic, but he nods anyway, breathing deeply. The plane bounces across the water as it takes off, and Bruce clutches his knees, determinedly staring at the floor, his heart starting to hammer.

 

“You don’t have to white knuckle it, Bruce,” Tony murmurs. “You can take something to get you over the hump.”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I think—it’s fine.”

 

He doesn’t want to be dependent on the drugs to keep the Other Guy at bay; he’s had all manner of chemicals coursing through his system over the last few years. Bruce wants control.

 

But he can see green beginning to creep across the backs of his hands.

 

Tony holds the hypo in front of his face. “Bruce.”

 

“You do it,” Bruce replies, because he’s suddenly fighting the change with everything he’s got.

 

Tony presses the hypo to the side of Bruce’s neck, and he hears the hiss. “Listen to me,” Tony says quietly, slipping an arm across Bruce’s shoulders. “I know you want control, but you’ve had a fucking awful day on top of a few fucking awful years. You don’t have to be on top of things right out of the gate.”

 

“And what if I never get control?” Bruce asks. “I never liked to fly, but this is—”

 

“This is a stressful day,” Tony insists. “Anybody would be on edge. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

 

He feels the anxiety ease, and he unclenches his hands. “What if the Army was right about me? What if I should be in a cage?”

 

Bruce doesn’t look at Tony when he says it, fully expecting him to disagree, probably vehemently.

 

“Maybe you should be,” Tony says instead.

 

Bruce stares at him. “What?”

 

“If that’s true, if the Army was right, shouldn’t that be your call?” Tony asks reasonably. “And being dangerous doesn’t mean you should be in prison, and it doesn’t justify torture, or being forced to work on projects that you find morally objectionable. So, maybe you decide not to rejoin the world, I can probably find a place for you that’s safe.”

 

Bruce blinks. “They didn’t torture me.”

 

Tony’s expression is somber. “You forget that I mined all of the Army’s information on you, everything they figured out over the last few years about the Other Guy, everything they knew about your triggers, about what made you transform, and what kept the Other Guy suppressed. And I know what they did to ensure you _couldn’t_ transform.”

 

He shudders, remembering.

 

“That was torture, any way you cut it,” Tony insists. “So was keeping you in solitary that long.”

 

“I saw people,” Bruce protests.

 

“You saw Kimball and your guards,” Tony counters. “Tell me I wasn’t the first person from the outside world you had contact with.”

 

Bruce can feel his shoulders hunch. “I can’t.”

 

“Okay, then,” Tony says in a low voice. “So maybe cut yourself a fucking break, Bruce. If you can’t get control, or if you think it’s too dangerous to rejoin the world, then I’ll find a way to bring the world to you. Hell, you can telecommute using one of Stark Industries’ satellite feeds. It’s amazing what virtual technology can do these days.”

 

Bruce still doesn’t know why Tony is doing all of this, why he’d care enough to help Bruce at all, let along to this extent. But he’d asked once before, and he doesn’t think he’s going to get a different answer this time. What he does ask is, “Why are you coming on this trip? Surely you have better things to do.”

 

“Surprisingly, no,” Tony says. “I put Pepper in charge of Stark Industries for a reason. Besides, SHIELD thinks it’s a good idea for both of us to lay low, and we might as well do it together.”

 

Bruce nods, and realizes that he’s grateful not to be alone. “Thanks.”

 

“Don’t mention it,” Tony replies, pulling his arm away finally.

 

Bruce misses the contact more than he’s willing to admit.

 

~~~~~

 

Tony hadn’t been entirely honest with Bruce. While it’s true that Pepper is running Stark Industries—better than Tony could, if he’s honest—and that SHIELD had wanted both of them to stay out of the spotlight, Tony could have done that in a lot of places.

 

Unlike Bruce, the whole world is open to Tony, and whatever the American military has a limited sphere of influence. He knows of half a dozen countries that would have gladly sheltered him.

 

No, the real reason he’d elected to stay with Bruce is because he actually likes the guy, something he can’t say of many people.

 

Also, he’s hoping to recruit Bruce’s genius for Stark Industries. Between the two of them, they might manage to tip the balance of power in favor away from the Army and people like Ross and Kimball.

 

Never let it be said that Tony Stark doesn’t dream big.

 

Bruce is clearly dead on his feet by the time the seaplane lands at the dock on the very private, very secure island that Tony has rented. He could have purchased one, but if he’s going to go that far, he’d rather it not be in U.S. waters and be a little more secure. Technically, the only way to access Marion is the dock where the seaplane puts in, but there’s a cove on the other side of the 12-acre island where a boat could land, and the Army could send paratroopers.

 

There are a lot of things the Army _could_ do, but Tony has taken pains to ensure their security during the course of their stay here. Renting the place under a false name, routing the payment through several accounts, and paying off the pilot had been just the beginning. He also has ensured satellite surveillance of the island, with the data to go directly to Jarvis, who had been instructed to warn Tony of anyone’s approach. The house itself had been fully stocked with enough food and alcohol for at least two weeks, and he knows when the next delivery is scheduled.

 

And Tony has a few contingency plans if the Army does attempt anything, although he suspects they won’t be quite so stupid, not when they don’t have the Hulk under their control.

 

“Just a little farther,” Tony tells Bruce as he grabs their bags.

 

Bruce seems to wake up a little bit in the sea air. “Did you rent an entire island?”

 

“It seemed prudent,” Tony replies. “Just me and you, Big Guy, for as long as it takes.”

 

“You don’t mean that,” Bruce objects. “It could take months, or even years.”

 

Tony knows better than to lie. “It could, in which case, we’ll figure something out. You might get the hang of it faster than you think.”

 

Bruce frowns but doesn’t argue.

 

Tony thinks he knows what’s causing Bruce’s consternation. Getting control here, without distractions or stressors, is a very different thing than being in the middle of a crowded city, or on a commercial airline or other mode of transportation.

 

He’s aware of that fact, which is why he’d opted for holing up here, rather than a place that would have required a lot longer traveling time. Bruce still has the remnants of the drugs the Army had given him traveling through his system, and with the sedatives, control is possible.

 

In another week, that might not be the case. That’s why Tony has the Mark VI here, at his disposal. He’s pretty sure it will at least allow him to withstand a few hits from the Hulk if he gets annoyed enough to swat at Tony.

 

This plan has been months in the making, ever since SHIELD had first given him Bruce’s file. In between meetings with SHIELD, the Stark Expo, finding a new element, and getting the suit to a place where he can get in and out of it without needing his bots—he’s been busy.

 

He just hopes that he’s thought of everything.

 

The house is fairly palatial, even by Tony’s standards, built into the side of a hill and sprawling out above it. It’s open and airy, with lots of windows and plenty of exits, which Tony hopes will serve two purposes—to make Bruce feel less trapped, and to ensure that if he does transform, he can get out of the house quickly with minimal damage.

 

Bruce stares as they enter. “Tony—I can’t stay here. I’ll trash the place the next time I transform.”

 

“That’s the beauty of a house with multiple exits.” Tony puts a hand in the middle of Bruce’s back and propels him inside. “If you’re feeling green, head outside. You can play in the surf, uproot a few trees—it’ll be fine.”

 

Bruce frowns. “What about you?”

 

“I’ve got a heavy duty suit here,” Tony promises. “I don’t know how well it will stand up to repeated attacks from the Other Guy, but I should be able to provide him with a distraction.”

 

“I hope you’re right about that,” Bruce mutters.

 

Tony decides to ignore Bruce’s doubts. “Okay, so, the kitchen is fully stocked, but I can’t promise not to burn dinner, or ruin it.”

 

“I can cook,” Bruce replies with a crooked smile.

 

“There are plenty of bedrooms to choose from, so you can take your pick,” he continues. “The lab is stocked, too, but maybe not with your usual equipment. There’s a computer for you, though, and we’ve got satellite, so you’ll have access to all the information and news you might have missed over the last few years.”

 

Tony stops there, realizing that Bruce is looking very overwhelmed. “You hungry, or do you want to sleep?”

 

“Sleep,” Bruce replies. “But I—”

 

“I think the bedrooms are this way,” Tony says, cutting him off, figuring that maybe this is one of those times when Bruce doesn’t need a lot of options.

 

The first one they come to has French doors that open out onto a patio, looking into a thick, lush forest growing right up to the edge of the property. The doors aren’t big enough to let the Hulk out without taking damage, but the high ceilings, wide windows, and patio doors give a sense of openness.

 

“I’ll take this one, if you don’t mind,” Bruce says immediately, crossing the room to stare out at the forest beyond.

 

Tony smiles. “All yours, Big Guy. There should be clothing in the closet. I figured you were about my size. If you want or need anything else, they can bring it at the next drop-off.”

 

Bruce half-turns. “I don’t know how I’m going to repay you for this.”

 

“Remember what I said about the blanket thanks?” Tony asks. “It’s not necessary.”

 

“Still.” Bruce shrugs.

 

Tony gives him a long look. “Come work for Stark Industries, and we’ll call it even.”

 

“You’re feeling pretty optimistic about my chances of getting this under control,” Bruce replies.

 

“No, I’m feeling pretty optimistic about you working for SI, even if you have to telecommute.” Tony backs out of the room. “Just call if you need me.”

 

Tony takes the room across the hall, wanting to be close, and he shuts the door behind him, just so he can take a few deep breaths.

 

The fact is, he wants nothing more than to fuck Bruce, and he can’t. He can’t be the one to put the moves on Bruce, not when Bruce is trying to straighten out his head, at least not for a while.

 

And for once in his life, Tony wants someone’s friendship more than he wants a quick roll in the hay. He’s not going to fuck that up.

 

**Los Diablos Military Base, New Mexico, January 2011**

 

Bruce wakes with a start when his door swings open early in the morning, much earlier than he’s used to someone coming to get him from his cell. The tiny, barred window is gray in the predawn light, and he sits up quickly as two guards enter.

 

He doesn’t recognize either of them, which doesn’t bode well. Bruce’s regular guards are on friendly terms with him, especially Collins, and Kimball knows that. He tends to go with strangers whenever he’s going to be doing things that might wind up being personally distasteful.

 

One of the guards throws a set of scrubs at him. “Get dressed.”

 

Bruce realizes that they’re going to stand and watch as he does, and that he doesn’t have a choice in the matter, so he quickly strips out of the t-shirt and boxers he wears to sleep in and pulls on the scrubs, knowing what’s expected of him.

 

It hits him then, what this is, and he nearly balks, not wanting to give in so easily. But then, if he shows any obvious signs of rebellion, they might start looking at his activities a little more closely, and that could be bad news.

 

“Don’t bother with your shoes,” one of the guards says when Bruce reaches for them, and Bruce clenches his hands and forces himself to nod.

 

He keeps his eyes on the ground as they march him down the hall, one on either side, gripping his upper arms as though he’s a flight risk.

 

Maybe he had been at one point, but Bruce knows now that escape is impossible, and in fact, would do more harm than good. People will wind up dead, and Bruce will just end up right back here in the hell of his own making.

 

They have to go outside to reach the testing room, and Bruce sucks in a deep breath. Night in the desert is cold, too cold for him to be outside in nothing but a set of thin scrubs, his feet bare, but he welcomes it.

 

The only time he gets to go outside these days is when they’re transferring him between his building and the testing chamber, and so he enjoys every precious second.

 

All too soon, they enter the testing building. The above ground portion is just a small, square room with a door and a freight elevator. They enter the elevator, and Bruce counts the seconds as they descend, using that as a way to estimate how far below ground they are.

 

He does that every time he comes here, and his estimate is always somewhere between 300 and 500 feet, but it’s impossible to be certain.

 

Not that it matters. He won’t get out until they let him out.

 

The testing chamber is approximately 20 feet by 20 feet with cameras in all four corners and in the ceiling, and a chair in the center.

 

There’s a part of Bruce that recognizes the ingenuity of Kimball’s methods, in making Bruce an accessory to his own torture.

 

“Please sit in the chair, Dr. Banner.” Kimball’s disembodied voice fills the chamber as the door clangs shut behind Bruce. “I’m sure you understand the need to ensure that your dosage is still sufficient.”

 

Bruce swallows hard, but he crosses the room, the concrete cold on his bare feet, and sits down, resting his hands gingerly on the arms of the chair, placing his feet on the metal footrests.

 

“Lean back, Dr. Banner,” Kimball says. “And don’t make me ask you again.”

 

He leans back, and closes his eyes, unwilling to watch as the metal bands clamp down on his wrists and ankles, and around his neck. The three metal prongs protruding from the headrest move into place snugly against his skull.

 

Once he’s secure, a guard comes into the room and pushes a piece of thick rubber into his mouth, places electrodes on Bruce’s chest, under his scrub shirt, and then he leaves again.

 

Bruce is already breathing hard through his nose, around the rubber in his mouth, his fingers clenching on the arms of the chair.

 

He’s cold, but it’s more than that. It’s the memory of the last time, and the time before that, and what exactly they’ll be doing to him over the next 24 hours. He supposes there’s at least a little comfort in knowing exactly what’s to come, because Kimball never deviates from the regimen.

 

Repetition is the key to scientific discovery, Bruce thinks, but that doesn’t comfort him the way it used to.

 

The shocks start small at first, barely a tickle, and then they build, each stronger than the last, until Bruce is rigid with pain, fighting against his bonds, screaming around the rubber in his mouth. He’s grateful to it, in a way, since he’d bite through his tongue otherwise.

 

This time, the shocks stop short of causing him to empty his bowels, but he can also feel a rising anger and a flash of unfamiliar strain, almost like he could break the metal bands holding him there.

 

He can’t look down, but he thinks he might see a tinge of green on his skin if he did, and that suspicion is supported a moment later when he hears a hiss. The gas will knock Bruce out for a time, and he’ll wake up either in the chair or on the floor. Then they’ll adjust the dosage, and try again, until they get it right, and Bruce shows no sign of changing, no matter what they do.

 

Electricity is Kimball’s preference these days, because it doesn’t leave any lasting marks and doesn’t expose any of the soldiers to Bruce’s blood.

 

Kimball had done quite a bit of testing before making that determination, but that’s one of those things Bruce tries not to think about. Ever.

 

He just tries to take each day as it comes.

 

**Marion Island, Florida, June 2011**

 

Tony hears the screams from the workshop, and he’s halfway to Bruce’s room before he even thinks about the suit. A more cautious person would turn around, put the suit on, and only _then_ see to Bruce.

 

He’s not sure caution is called for in this case.

 

It’s late, full dark, and Tony skids to a stop in front of Bruce’s door, hesitating only briefly before opening it. “Bruce? It’s me.”

 

The screaming has stopped, and Tony sees Bruce’s empty bed, the covers rumpled. “Bruce,” he calls again. “It’s Tony. Are you okay?”

 

He hears a muffled sound, an animal sound, somewhere between a whimper and a moan.

 

Slowly, Tony rounds the bed, finding Bruce on the floor, on his knees, his forearms resting on the floor. There’s not enough light to see if there’s any green in his skin, but Tony is betting there is.

 

Tony has no idea what to do, whether he should let Bruce change, or try to talk him out of it, or—

 

He goes over to the French doors and flings them open, letting the humid air flood the room, along with the sounds of insects and nocturnal wildlife.

 

“Hey, Big Guy,” he says, keeping his tone casual. “Why don’t you come outside with me? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

 

“Can’t,” Bruce replies, and his voice is guttural, not at all like his usual, slightly raspy voice.

 

Tony swallows. “Sure you can. There’s a whole, wide world out there for you to explore, right? Trees to uproot, a beach to play on, whatever fits the mood. Anything you want.”

 

“No!” Bruce cries. “Get away from me!”

 

“Can’t do that,” Tony replies easily. “I’m here for the duration. If you’re going to transform, it’s okay, Bruce. We’ll just go outside where there’s plenty of room.”

 

Bruce pants harshly, and Tony realizes that Bruce doesn’t want to let go, that he wants to prove he can maintain some kind of control. He tries a new tactic. “I have this idea for an arc reactor that could power an entire building, and eventually a city.”

 

Tony launches into his plans to fuel his building in Manhattan, how the arc reactor will be out in the ocean, plugged into the Tower to run it for a year or more, how it’s all clean energy. How he’s going to change the world, and how Bruce might help.

 

Eventually, Bruce collapses on his side, breathing heavily as though he’s just run a race.

 

Tony scoots a little closer, cautiously putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, and Bruce lets out a sound that’s almost a sob. “Hey, you’re okay,” Tony says softly. “You held it off.”

 

“This time,” Bruce replies despondently. “The drugs Kimball gave me are still in my system, though.”

 

“Probably,” Tony agrees. “But that just means you have a little more time to figure it out.”

 

Bruce turns his head. “You’re not in the suit.”

 

“I heard you screaming,” Tony counters. “There wasn’t time to get into the suit.”

 

“Make time,” Bruce orders. “You’re playing with fire, Tony.”

 

Tony moves a little closer. “I’ll try to be more careful.” It’s as much as he’s willing to promise.

 

Bruce rolls onto his back. “Did I wake you up?”

 

“I was downstairs working, so no,” Tony says. He’s probably playing with fire again, but he rests a hand on Bruce’s chest, feeling how damp his t-shirt is. “Why don’t you take a shower? Get into some dry clothes.”

 

Bruce blinks. “Shower?”

 

“Yeah, you’ll feel better,” Tony says. “Are you hungry?”

 

“I could eat,” Bruce says warily.

 

Tony pats him on the chest. “Great. I can’t cook, so I’m not making any promises, but I think I might manage sandwiches.”

 

Bruce sits up. “You don’t have to do that.”

 

“Already on my way, Big Guy,” Tony says, heading out the door before Bruce can make any further protests.

 

He manages a passable midnight snack of ham sandwiches and potato chips, and pours himself a drink, because he figures he’s due one.

 

Tony knows that he’d managed to avert disaster this time, but they’d been lucky. If a nightmare could set Bruce off—well, he has plenty of things to fuel them.

 

Bruce turns up just as Tony’s digging into his own meal. “Hey. Sorry you had to see that.”

 

“See what?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce manages a smile. “Never mind.”

 

“Good. You want a drink?”

 

He shakes his head. “No, I’m not sure how it would effect me.”

 

“More for me, then,” Tony says. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want on it, but there are condiments in the fridge.”

 

Bruce hesitates and then sits at the counter. Tony doesn’t know if that means Bruce doesn’t like anything else on his sandwich, or if he just doesn’t want to make the decision.

 

“This is good,” Bruce says. “I thought you said you didn’t cook.”

 

Tony raises his eyebrows. “If you call this cooking, then I don’t think I want to know what you’ve been eating the last few years.”

 

Bruce shrugs. “It was nothing to write home about.”

 

“But you cook,” Tony says.

 

“I used to,” Bruce replies. “I don’t know if it’s quite like riding a bicycle, but I guess we’ll find out.”

 

Tony smiles. “I guess we will. There are a lot of things you might enjoy doing again, you know.”

 

Bruce looks down at his plate, but a smile plays around his mouth. “Maybe so.”

 

Tony takes it as a good sign.

 

~~~~~

 

No one could have prepared Bruce for Tony’s kindness.

 

Bruce has been following the exploits of Tony Stark for years now, even when the Army had been holding him, and he’d been prepared for his genius, his charm, even his fabulous wealth. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he’s had something of a crush on the man—or at least his brain—since well before Afghanistan. That feeling had only intensified after he announced that he was Iron Man, and managed to stay out of the Army’s clutches, in spite of repeated attempts to coopt his technology.

 

But no one could possibly have prepared Bruce for the possibility that Tony Stark would be _kind_ to him, or would touch him in a friendly, somewhat proprietary way, or would brave the Other Guy to sit with Bruce after a particularly nasty nightmare.

 

Bruce honestly can’t remember the last time anybody was willing to get within arm’s length and stay there when they weren’t intending to harm him.

 

Collins had done him small favors, but he had his job to consider, and Bruce knew he’d also been wary of the Other Guy, and Kimball’s ire.

 

And the thing is, there’s a part of Bruce that wants to give in, to give Tony anything he wants, if only Tony will keep touching him.

 

Bruce doesn’t trust that part of himself—but he does trust Tony.

 

It’s a conundrum.

 

After their midnight—or rather, their very early morning snack, Tony insists on watching bad science fiction movies so he can mock them mercilessly, sprawled out on one end of the couch with a drink in hand, with Bruce tucked up in the opposite corner.

 

He’s having a hard time relaxing, even with a full stomach and an inane movie in the background, with the sound of the ocean and insect life, and the wide windows and doors that mean he can leave anytime he’d like.

 

Bruce catches his leg bouncing several times, and he has to finally physically grab his knee. He has no idea what’s wrong with him, because he should be okay—he’s out, isn’t he? He’s relatively safe, and there’s Tony, and—

 

Tony’s kneeling on the floor in front of Bruce, his hands over Bruce’s where they rest on his knees. “Talk to me,” he orders.

 

Bruce shakes his head. He’s safe, and he should be fine, but he feels on edge, like he’s going to fly apart at any minute. There’s _too much space_ , and too many choices, and he can’t—

 

“Banner, look at me,” Tony commands. “Come on, look at me.”

 

With some effort, Bruce manages to meet his eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

 

“You know, Afghanistan kind of fucked me up,” Tony says conversationally. “I mean, somebody carved a hole in my chest and hooked me up to a car battery. I was tortured, I lost a good friend while I was trying to escape, and then I get home, only to find out that fucking everybody wants to use me.”

 

“That’s the way the world works,” Bruce manages.

 

“Maybe,” Tony allows. “But it fucking sucks. So, the way I figure it, you let me hang onto that tranquilizer because you’re worried you’re going to abuse it. Right?”

 

Bruce nods.

 

“But at the same time, I don’t want to be shoving one on you every time you look a little green, because that doesn’t actually help. Like earlier, when you managed to get control,” Tony continues. “Is that right?”

 

“Yes,” Bruce manages.

 

“Which means that either I wait for you to ask for a dose, or I make a suggestion any time I think you might need one,” Tony says. “You get to decide which it’s going to be.”

 

Bruce takes a deep breath. “Can it be both?”

 

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Tony replies. “Right now, I think you need something to take the edge off. Not because I think you’re going to let the Other Guy out—which I think you should do soon, by the way, just somewhere inland while I’m in the suit and he can smash as many trees as he likes. But because you’re still going through withdrawal, and there’s no shame in taking the edge off.”

 

Bruce takes another breath. “Like you do with alcohol?”

 

“You caught me, I self-medicate. If you were me, you would, too,” Tony agrees readily. “What’s it going to be this time?”

 

Bruce doesn’t even have to think about it. “A dose.”

 

“Good man,” Tony says. “Stay right here, and breathe, okay? I don’t have anything on me at the moment.”

 

Bruce tries to follow Tony’s instructions, but he’s shaking, on the verge of a panic attack, and _he doesn’t know why_. He shouldn’t be feeling this way, he has no _right_ to feel this way, not when Tony and his team had made such an effort to get him out. He should be grateful.

 

He shouldn’t be wishing for the quiet, enclosed space of his cell.

 

“Behind you,” Tony warns, and then presses the hypo against Bruce’s neck.

 

Like on the helicopter, Bruce feels an almost immediate relief as the tremors in his hands subside, and his nerves calm.

 

“There’s no shame in needing something to take the edge off, Bruce,” Tony repeats quietly, squeezing his shoulder. “This won’t keep the Other Guy at bay, but it will let you deal with the other stuff.”

 

“I shouldn’t need to,” Bruce says. “I know—I know I’m safe.”

 

“Knowing and feeling are two different things,” Tony replies. “You want to go to bed, or—”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I want…” He doesn’t know what he wants, not right now. “Can we go back to the movie?”

 

“Sure,” Tony agrees easily. He sits down on the other end of the couch, but this time he stretches out. “Think I might sleep, though.”

 

Bruce nods, not quite ready to be alone, but afraid to ask if he can stay.

 

“Does physical contact help at all?” Tony asks.

 

“The right kind does,” Bruce replies.

 

“Then lay down.” Bruce isn’t sure what Tony has in mind, but he lays down, his head pillowed on one end, and Tony deliberately slings one leg over Bruce’s shins, anchoring him. “How’s that?”

 

“That works,” Bruce admits.

 

Tony turns the movie back on. “Just kick me if you need anything, okay?”

 

Bruce doesn’t watch the movie. Instead, he watches Tony, taking in the artlessly mussed hair, the worn Black Sabbath t-shirt, the long lashes that shadow his cheeks. He doesn’t understand this version of Tony Stark at all.

 

But he’s looking forward to figuring him out.

 

~~~~~

 

Tony wakes the next morning to the smell of coffee and bacon cooking. He rubs his eyes and wanders into the kitchen where Bruce is stirring something in a skillet. “What’s this?”

 

“A thank you for last night,” Bruce replies. “I thought I’d start out slowly, just to see if I remembered how.”

 

“Smells great,” Tony offers, ignoring Bruce’s gratitude, and pouring a cup of coffee. “But no matter what I said, you don’t have to cook.”

 

Bruce smirks. “I was hungry, and I thought you might be, too. And given what you said, I thought it likely that we’d starve if I waited for you to cook.”

 

Tony shrugs. “Do you want to see the workshop after we eat?”

 

“Sure,” Bruce replies. “What are you working on down there?”

 

“The arc reactor,” Tony says. “Want an up close and personal look at it?”

 

Bruce brightens. “You’d let me?”

 

“Why not?”

 

“I didn’t think you let anybody see the plans,” Bruce says, dividing the eggs between two plates.

 

Tony pokes Bruce in the chest. “I don’t. You’re not just anybody.”

 

Bruce opens his mouth, probably to argue the point, but then he snaps it shut again. “Yes, I’d like to see them.”

 

“Great.” Tony uses a fork to scoop up several slices of bacon from the still-sizzling pan. “I’d like to know what you think.”

 

He doesn’t plan on keeping Bruce in the workshop all day. Not that Tony wouldn’t be happy to do science with Bruce 24/7, but Bruce has had enough of being a lab rat, and of being used for his mind while the Army took what it wanted from him.

 

Tony shudders again when he thinks of Kimball’s threat, and he’s not sorry that the man is dead. He hopes that, with time, Bruce will sleep better at night.

 

The eggs are good—well seasoned and neither too dry nor too runny—and the bacon is crisp. Tony devours his breakfast while Bruce eats steadily and in silence, his eyes shadowed in spite of his relative cheerfulness.

 

Tony doesn’t ask if he’s okay. Instead, he finishes his food, dumps his plate in the sink, and pours another cup of coffee. “Come on, let’s go,” he says with a show of impatience that he doesn’t necessarily feel.

 

But it’s normal for Tony to be impatient, and he thinks Bruce will respond to him better that way, when he’s not trying to treat Bruce with kid gloves, like he’s a piece of broken equipment that Tony has to somehow fix.

 

And okay, maybe Bruce is broken, but no more than Tony is, and Tony’s doing okay. It’s just a matter of figuring out how to fit the pieces back together again, that’s all.

 

Bruce follows Tony’s example, although he chews a little more slowly, and he actually rinses his plate and Tony’s before he gets a refill on his coffee. “Lead the way.”

 

In Tony’s mind, lying low doesn’t necessarily mean a lack of equipment. He’s left his cars at home, and some of his other toys, but the computer equipment is top of the line, as are a couple of other gadgets. Any fabrication will have to take place off-site, probably in Malibu, but he’s got a line to Jarvis set up, and there are plenty of things he can do from here.

 

It’s not the same, of course, as if he’d been back in his own space, but at the same time, he’s got Bruce, who presents a fascinating project in and of himself.

 

“It’s not much,” Tony says quietly when he leads Bruce into the space, which has been cleared of the ATVs and other outdoor equipment that had previously been there. “You should see my place in Malibu. I had to build a particle accelerator there.”

 

Bruce turns to stare at him in disbelief. “Seriously? Is it still there?”

 

“I haven’t dismantled it yet,” Tony replies. “Once we’re done here, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

 

Bruce’s expression shutters. “Yeah, if we’re ever done here.”

 

“Let’s hope for the best,” Tony replies. “Now, let me show you what I have planned for the next incarnation.”

 

If asked, Tony would totally cop to the fact that he’s distracting Bruce with science, the sort that could be used as a weapon but has a higher purpose. Tony has every intention of revolutionizing the energy business with arc reactor technology. He’s not just intent on privatizing world peace; he’s going to remove one of the reasons for going to war in the first place.

 

Nobody’s going to fight over oil when they could get arc reactor technology for free, or at least license it at a reasonable rate.

 

Bruce squints at the screen when Tony pulls up the plans, and Tony reaches into a drawer. “I took the liberty of having a spare made.”

 

He stares at the glasses in Tony’s hand. “Is there anything you didn’t think of?”

 

“God, I hope not, because we might be fucked,” Tony says. “I think I got the prescription right. I pulled it from your records.”

 

Bruce takes the glasses and puts them on, and Tony refuses to think about how good he looks in them. “They’ll do. Did you get all of my records?”

 

“I cleaned them out, and then I planted a virus,” Tony replies evenly. “Anybody who tries to access those files in the next month or so is going to get that virus automatically downloaded to their system. And in a month, every single bit of data on their systems is going to be corrupted, and they’re never going to get it back.”

 

Bruce puts his hands flat on the table. “What about the samples? I know they had them.”

 

“What do you think the explosions were for?” Tony asks. “Barton made sure nothing survived.”

 

He nods slowly. “So, they can’t use my—they can’t use it to do it again?”

 

“That’s the idea,” Tony replies, realizing that Bruce needs this information now. “Look, part of the mission here was to make sure the Army couldn’t continue their experiments in gamma radiation. SHIELD thought they were getting out of hand, and they wanted it contained.”

 

Bruce’s posture is rigid with tension. “They wanted _me_ contained.”

 

“They wanted you out of the Army’s hands,” Tony counters.

 

Bruce finally looks at him. “You realize that SHIELD isn’t any better, right? They’re collecting people the way the Army wanted to.”

 

Tony pauses, because he knows Bruce has a point. “Maybe, but that doesn’t mean we have to play their game. They may try to use us, but we can turn around and use them. If we have to, we can fly to Switzerland. They’d welcome us with open arms.”

 

Bruce nods slowly. “It’s better than the alternative, I guess.”

 

“That’s what you’ve got to understand,” Tony says seriously. “You _have_ alternatives, more than just one. Whatever happens here, you make the call. We can leave SHIELD in the dust.”

 

Bruce stares at him. “You need SHIELD.”

 

“SHIELD needs _me_ ,” Tony counters. “At least as much as I need them. That gives us leverage.”

 

“It gives _you_ leverage.”

 

“Far as I’m concerned, we’re a package deal at this point,” Tony says.

 

“Why?” Bruce demands. “You’ve known me for all of two weeks now! Why the fuck would you even give a shit?”

 

Tony has figured out how Bruce responds to touch, and he gets it. Bruce is touch starved, and he’s not above using that to his advantage. He reaches out now and puts a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, slides it around to the back of his neck, his fingers caressing the bare skin under the collar of Bruce’s t-shirt.

 

“Because I’ve been used,” Tony says. “And I didn’t care for it. They might have had more success under another set of circumstances. I can’t repay the man who helped me get out, but I can pay it forward.”

 

Bruce won’t meet his eyes, and Tony realizes that’s not a good enough explanation. Generosity isn’t something Bruce can understand right now.

 

“And because I never miss a chance to hire a genius,” Tony adds. “I’m kind of hoping you’ll agree to work for me.”

 

“I don’t have any better offers,” Bruce says, but he’s smiling, maybe out of relief that Tony’s given him something he understands.

 

Bruce gets being used, but not somebody doing something for him without expecting anything in return. Tony instinctively understands that kind of attitude, because he’d probably feel the same way.

 

“So, the arc reactor?” Bruce prompts.

 

Tony pulls up the designs for the one he’s planning to use to fuel his building in Manhattan. “Check it out for yourself.”

 

Bruce leans in close to the computer screen, his hand going up to touch.

 

“You can—touch, I mean,” Tony says. “It’s a touch screen. I’ve got the ability to create interactive 3-dimensional holograms, but I couldn’t get all of that equipment here.”

 

Bruce glances at him. “I may have some ideas on that.”

 

“I’d be glad to hear them,” Tony says. He can tell the exact moment that Bruce loses himself in the science, when he leans in and spins the arc reactor around with a flick of his finger, blowing it apart into its various components with both hands, then looking at each individual piece.

 

Tony lets him explore and turns his own attention to the next version of the suit. He’s made progress on being able to get in and out of the suit without his bots, but it still doesn’t have the portability that he ultimately wants. A suit he can control with his mind might be best, something that no one else will be able to use against him.

 

It’s a couple of hours later when Bruce says, “Tony, this is a marvel.”

 

“Think it’ll work the way it’s supposed to?” Tony asks, even though he already knows the answer.

 

Bruce gives him a look. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Stark.”

 

“I’m asking for your professional opinion,” Tony replies.

 

Bruce rolls his eyes. “Then yes, I think it will work, although I do see a couple of places where you could make it run more efficiently.”

 

Tony points at him. “And _that’s_ why I want you around. Tell me about it, Brucie.”

 

Bruce glares. “Don’t call me that.”

 

He files that away for a future opportunity to annoy Bruce. “Tell me.”

 

And Bruce does.

 

~~~~~

 

“I think we should go swimming,” Tony says out of the blue.

 

Bruce looks up from his diagram. “Hm?”

 

“Swimming, the beach, sand and surf?” Tony prompts. “Ring any bells?”

 

Bruce takes off his glasses. “Actually, no.”

 

“Let’s go,” Tony says, grabbing Bruce’s arm. “I think I have a couple of pairs of swimming trunks somewhere around here.”

 

Bruce stays where he is. “I thought we were working.”

 

“We _were_ ,” Tony replies. “Now we’re relaxing.”

 

“I’m really okay where I am,” Bruce insists, although he’s not sure why he’s resisting. Granted, he’s never really been one for trips to the beach, but they’re a few dozen feet from the ocean, and it’s been _years_ since he’s been able to relax.

 

And maybe that’s the problem. Being in the lab is at least familiar, and being on the beach will mean that he’s exposed.

 

“One hour,” Tony wheedles. “If you hate it, we’ll come in.” When Bruce still hesitates, he says, “It will give you a chance to see the arc reactor up close.”

 

Bruce gives him a look. “You’re bribing me?”

 

“Bribery is an acceptable way of getting what you want in a lot of places,” Tony replies. “And, since I’m renting this island, I’m going to say that it’s perfectly acceptable here. Feel free to resort to bribery if there’s something that you want.”

 

“What would I have to offer?” Bruce asks, bewildered.

 

Tony shakes his head. “The fact that you would ask that question… When you figure it out, I want to be the first to know, just FYI.”

 

Bruce flushes. “Tony, I don’t think that’s—”

 

“Or you could just ask,” Tony continues. “Since I feel as though we’re still in the courtship phase, it’s probably on me to bribe you. Call it wooing.”

 

Bruce crosses his arms. “And the beach is part of the courtship process?”

 

“The beach is part of a process,” Tony replies. “That process is called ‘get Bruce recalibrated,’ and the first step is the beach.”

 

“And the beach is supposed to do what?”

 

Tony shrugs. “I don’t know. Honestly, I’m flying blind here. I know what helped me after Afghanistan, but building a suit of armor and shooting bad guys probably isn’t going to do much for you.”

 

Bruce smiles. “No, probably not.”

 

“So, we try the beach,” Tony says. “If that doesn’t work for you, we’ll try other stuff—mellow jazz, bongo drums, big bag of weed—the sky’s the limit.”

 

Bruce is beginning to believe that Tony means it, and he figures the beach is a small step compared to the other options. Well, other than the mellow jazz and the bongo drums. “Let’s start with the beach.”

 

There are, indeed, a couple of pairs of swim trunks in the house, and Bruce opts for the least offensive pair in navy blue and turquoise. Tony doesn’t have any qualms about wearing the pair in white and bright orange.

 

“You look like a traffic cone,” Bruce comments.

 

Tony tosses him a bottle of sunscreen. “Just in case. You haven’t seen much sun recently, have you?”

 

“I think you know I haven’t,” Bruce replies.

 

“Then you’re going to need that if you don’t want to be burned to a crisp,” Tony says, tucking a couple of towels under his arm.

 

Bruce motions to the door. “Lead the way, Stark.”

 

It shouldn’t feel so momentous, padding barefoot after Tony on his way to the beach, wearing a pair of swim trunks, with a towel slung around his neck. This is normal, Bruce reminds himself. Normal people do this all the time.

 

“Shouldn’t you have the suit with you?” Bruce calls, suddenly anxious.

 

“I figure we’ve got 60 to 90 seconds lead time,” Tony replies. “That’s enough time to get off the beach and into the house to get the suit.”

 

Bruce trudges after him, deciding to give up while he’s still ahead. He watches as Tony spreads his towel out on the sand and follows suit, trying not to stare at the arc reactor in the center of Tony’s chest.

 

“Hey, you want to put some of that sunscreen on my back?” Tony asks, stretching out on his stomach. “After that, you can see it up close.”

 

Bruce is hard pressed to come up with a reason why he can’t or shouldn’t, even though he’s not sure it’s a good idea to get so close. “Sure.”

 

“I’ll return the favor,” Tony says.

 

Bruce doesn’t reply, instead focusing on spreading the sunscreen in an even layer over Tony’s back, feeling warm skin and corded muscles under his hands. He thinks that about the only thing that feels better than being touched is returning the favor.

 

He lingers a little more than he means to, and pulls back abruptly when he realizes what he’s doing, beginning to slather sunscreen on his chest and arms rather than asking Tony to do the same for him.

 

“You know, a massage could be a bribe,” Tony mumbles against his towel. “You have great hands.”

 

“Thanks.” Bruce slathers the lotion on over his legs.

 

“For the record, you can touch me however you want,” Tony says.

 

Bruce flops back on his towel. “Duly noted.”

 

“You know, I thought you might be a smartass,” Tony replies. “Relax, Bruce.”

 

Bruce makes an attempt, he really does. He stretches out on the sand and closes his eyes and consciously tries to relax each muscle group the way he had on the base sometimes when he couldn’t sleep.

 

He’s still stiff five minutes later.

 

Tony rolls over. “Come on. Look if you want.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re freaking out over there. I’m giving you something else to focus on,” Tony replies reasonably. “Check it out. You know you want to.”

 

The thing is, Bruce does want to, and he sits up. The metal housing in the center of Tony’s chest appears to go right through his sternum, the light from the reactor glowing a brilliant blue.

 

“Remember what I said about touching?” Tony prompts.

 

Bruce glances up, meeting Tony’s unflinching gaze, and then touches the metal housing, warm from Tony’s body heat and the sun. He runs his finger along the skin around it, feeling thick scar tissue, the hard rib bones, and skin that’s just a little warmer than he expects.

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

Something dark flickers across Tony’s face. “Sometimes. Less often now.”

 

“But after?”

 

“I had other things to think about,” he replies. “Staying alive was an excellent distraction.”

 

Bruce looks away. “I suppose it would be.”

 

He’s ashamed of himself in the face of Tony’s obvious courage, at Tony’s ability to build something amazing out of spare parts, in spite of the danger. Shouldn’t he have been able to do the same?

 

Tony puts his hand over Bruce’s. “Don’t, whatever you’re thinking.”

 

“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” Bruce objects.

 

“No, but I can tell it isn’t pleasant.” Tony quirks an eyebrow. “The fact that you’re thinking about unpleasant things while touching me isn’t doing my ego any favors.”

 

“Your ego doesn’t need any favors,” Bruce replies with a smile, although he’s a little disconcerted at how easily Tony has read him. “You escaped.”

 

Tony hitches a shoulder. “I was extremely motivated at the time.”

 

“I helped the Army,” Bruce says softly. “The things I built…” He leaves it unsaid. Bruce’s body count isn’t limited to the Other Guy.

 

“Join the club,” Tony replies. “You think I don’t have plenty of blood on my hands?”

 

Bruce shakes his head, not expecting Tony to understand. How could he? He’d resisted.

 

“Hey, come on,” Tony coaxes. “Talk to me.”

 

“It’s so easy for you,” Bruce murmurs. “I killed the woman I loved.”

 

Tony frowns. “No, you didn’t. We covered that before.”

 

Bruce stares at him. “I thought you were just trying to convince me to leave.”

 

“I wouldn’t do that,” Tony replies. “I wouldn’t lie to you about something that important.”

 

Bruce scrambles back, suddenly feeling panicky. “She’s not alive. I killed her. They told me that.”

 

“They lied to you,” Tony counters. “Bruce—”

 

“It’s not possible,” Bruce protests.

 

He wants Betty to be alive, but at the same time, he can’t stand the thought, because that would mean that the last few years had been built on a lie, that Bruce’s guilt—the guilt that had held him there—had been conceived under false pretenses.

 

“The others…” Bruce says.

 

Tony seems to know exactly who Bruce is referring to without being asked. “You hurt a few, some seriously, but none were killed, Bruce.”

 

He clambers to his feet. “Then what I did, what I agreed to do, was for nothing. I was—”

 

“You got fucked over,” Tony argues, rolling onto his knees. “Kimball and the Army—they’re the ones to blame. Not you.”

 

Bruce’s hands are shaking and he realizes that he’s losing control. “Tony—get out of here.”

 

“Bruce—”

 

“Leave!” he shouts, his voice already changing.

 

And then he’s gone.

 

~~~~~

 

The transformation had occurred much faster than Tony anticipated, faster than he could hope to get up to the house and get into the armor. So, he opts for staying right where he is and hoping that the Hulk sees him as a friend still.

 

The swimming trunks are shredded immediately, leaving the Hulk completely naked. And apparently proportional. Tony tries not to stare, just in case the Hulk takes offense.

 

The Hulk grunts when he sees Tony. “Hulk smash?”

 

“Well, there are some trees,” Tony replies, waving at the forest beyond. “But have you ever been in the ocean?”

 

Hulk looks at the water with deep suspicion. “Why?”

 

“Why? Because it’s fun.” Tony decides to lead by example, wading out into the surf. “See? It’s not going to hurt you.”

 

“No smashing?” Hulk sounds disappointed.

 

“Like I said there are trees,” Tony replies. “Whatever you want to do, Jolly Green.”

 

The Hulk frowns, probably not quite understanding what Tony means, or why he’s calling the Hulk that, but he takes one step towards the water, bringing him close enough to put one foot in the surf. He pulls back immediately, and then puts his foot back in the water.

 

“See?” Tony says. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

 

“Good,” Hulk rumbles, as though he’s trying on the word for size. He takes another step, and he’s up to his ankles now. He picks one foot up and shakes it, splashing Tony, who laughs.

 

The Hulk does it again and then reaches down into the water, trailing his fingers in it, splashing Tony again, and Tony returns the favor.

 

Tony’s not sure he could describe it as playing, mostly because the Hulk is nine feet of solid green muscle, and ascribing any playfulness to Hulk seems the height of folly.

 

Then again, they’re splashing each other like a couple of overgrown kids, thus proving that the Hulk is better at relaxing than Bruce is.

 

That’s probably not fair to Bruce, though; he’s been bearing the brunt of the Army’s machinations, while the Hulk had been safely locked away. It makes Tony wonder what the Army would have done with the Hulk if they had carried out their threat to lobotomize Bruce and trigger the Hulk whenever they needed him to do their dirty work.

 

Seeing the Hulk like this, Tony suspects they might have been surprised at what they unleashed.

 

Eventually, the Hulk just sits down in the surf, letting the waves crash over him, and Tony stands next to him, although just a bit out of arm’s reach just in case.

 

“Okay there, Big Guy?” Tony asks.

 

Hulk’s staring out to sea. “Yes.”

 

Tony shrugs and just waits with him, knowing that Bruce will be back sooner or later, unwilling to rush the Hulk along given how long he’d been cooped up.

 

After about fifteen minutes of silence, the Hulk starts to shrink down, and Bruce is suddenly nearly up to his neck in water, a wave hitting him in the face before Tony can reach down and haul him up.

 

Bruce splutters, coughing out water, and Tony says, “Sorry. I should have pulled you up faster.”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “No, what—what happened?”

 

“You went green, we played in the surf, no one got hurt,” Tony replies. “The Hulk didn’t even care to smash a tree or two.”

 

Bruce lets out a sound that is nearly despairing. “You should have been in the armor.”

 

“I’m a friend,” Tony counters, hauling Bruce back towards the house. “Tell you what, we’ll get the salt rinsed off, and then I’ll show you proof.”

 

Bruce gives him a disbelieving look. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll turn green again?”

 

“Not really,” Tony says. “Also, I’m going to suggest that you take something to relax.”

 

“I suppose I’d better,” Bruce mumbles, still leaning on Tony heavily.

 

“You hungry?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce nods. “Yeah. I can—I’ll fix something once I get some clothes on.”

 

“I’ll see if there’s something we can just throw in the oven,” Tony replies. “Pepper knows I can’t cook. She probably planned accordingly, if I know her.”

 

He rinses off briefly and then pulls on a pair of shorts and a tank top. A quick rummage in the kitchen turns up a frozen pizza, and even Tony can read the directions and throw it in the oven.

 

Pouring a drink, Tony takes a deep breath, feeling the drain as the adrenalin rush passes. He’s not exactly afraid of the Hulk, but he’s not stupid enough to think that he’d escape unscathed if the Hulk took exception to his presence.

 

Still, looking back, Tony doesn’t think there had been anything else he could have done. Maybe Bruce gets freaked out and upset when Tony says something he doesn’t want to hear, but the Hulk appears to be happy enough in Tony’s company.

 

Tony figures that he’ll have succeeded when Bruce is just as comfortable with Tony as the Hulk seems to be.

 

Bruce wanders out into the kitchen in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. “Is that food I smell?”

 

“Frozen pizza,” Tony replies. “I knew Pepper wouldn’t let us down.”

 

“That’s your assistant, right?” Bruce asks.

 

Tony smiles. “No. I made her CEO. She’s better at it than I could ever hope to be. Plus, I was dying, and with the work for SHIELD, I thought it might be for the best.”

 

Bruce looks alarmed, which Tony finds somewhat gratifying. “Dying?”

 

“Part of the deal with SHIELD,” Tony says. “They had a fix. Or at least, Fury could point me in the direction of a fix.”

 

“That’s good,” Bruce says. “I mean, it’s—never mind.”

 

“I didn’t ask if the clothes worked for you,” Tony says.

 

Bruce shrugs. “Before I tore through the swimming trunks.”

 

“I’ll order another pair.”

 

Bruce rubs his eyes. “You shouldn’t have to just because I can’t control myself.”

 

“You got upset,” Tony replies. “Perfectly understandable. You want something to take the edge off?”

 

Bruce nods, but his expression says otherwise.

 

“It’s been over 12 hours,” Tony points out. “You’re doing fine.”

 

Bruce takes the injection like a pro, and closes his eyes as it takes effect. Tony can see the strain on his face ease, and the shame that follows.

 

“You sure you don’t want a drink?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce eyes Tony’s glass. “No, I’m not sure.” Tony hands it over, and Bruce takes a healthy swig and hands it back. “It’s been years since I’ve had any kind of alcohol.”

 

“I can pour you another,” Tony suggests.

 

Bruce shakes his head. “No, that’s okay. Depending on the meds is bad enough.”

 

“Suit yourself,” Tony says philosophically. “There’s plenty if you change your mind.”

 

“I need proof,” Bruce replies.

 

Tony nods. “Fair enough. Let me pull it up.”

 

He had known that it was going to take more than just a few pictures with a time and date stamp, since all of those things could be doctored, although he hoped that Bruce trusted him enough to believe that he wouldn’t stoop to those levels. But on the off chance that Bruce _was_ that suspicious, he had ensured that his evidence is top notch.

 

What he has are more pictures, a YouTube video from a lecture she did at a conference, and her webpage at ratemyprofessor.com.

 

That last is the one that gives Bruce the most trouble. “What is this?”

 

“I think it’s fairly self-explanatory,” Tony replies. “You can see how recent the ratings are. There might even be one for you.”

 

Bruce stares at him incredulously. “Really?”

 

Tony shrugs. “Kids these days, right?”

 

He can tell when it starts to sink in, when Bruce realizes that there’s just too much information for Tony to fake. In the meantime, the timer on the oven goes off, and Tony pulls their pizza out. “So, believe me now?” he finally asks.

 

Bruce stares at the paused video. “I didn’t disbelieve you,” he admits. “I just—I’m glad she’s okay.”

 

Tony has saved the best for last, although he’s pretty sure Bruce won’t think so. He pulls up an article online, dated two years ago, announcing Betty Ross’ marriage.

 

Bruce swallows audibly. “I’m glad,” he finally says. “It’s good that she moved on.”

 

“Near as SHIELD could tell, she had no idea what happened to you,” Tony offers. “She thought you were dead, just like you thought she was dead.”

 

Bruce shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. It’s good that she’s happy. That’s all I ever wanted for her.”

 

Tony doesn’t press. “You want to see the rest of what I’ve got?”

 

Bruce nods. “Yeah. I want to see all of it.”

 

Tony just hopes that knowledge gives Bruce some peace.

 

~~~~~

 

Bruce has no intention of sleeping that night, even though he’s exhausted. He doesn’t want a repeat of the night before, nor does he want to risk another transformation. Instead, he steels himself to delve into the files that Tony had stolen from the Army.

 

He might be the one with the Other Guy living under his skin, but Bruce knows very little about what the Army had discovered over the years. Bruce has the need to know _everything_ , including all those things that the Army had discovered with their interminable tests.

 

Bruce wishes he could find some emotional distance from the information, that he could forget what each piece of data had personally cost him, but he can’t. Even if he hadn’t intended on sleeping, he’s not sure he would have been able to anyway.

 

“Hey, you going to bed anytime soon?” Tony asks when midnight has come and gone.

 

Tony has been a constant presence over the last several hours, although he’d been working on his own project. Bruce gets the feeling that he’s always tinkering with the suit and the arc reactor, continually seeking another level of perfection.

 

Bruce is grateful not to be alone right now.

 

“I don’t think I can sleep,” he replies. “But don’t let me stop you.”

 

“Take a break,” Tony advises. “You’ve been at that for hours, and it’s not pleasant reading.”

 

Bruce knows it’s probably good advice, but he’s not sure he can stop now that he’s started. “I’ll be okay.”

 

“I know you’ll be fine,” Tony replies. “But it’s nearly two in the morning, you haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in days, if not weeks—or years—and I’m going to guess that sleep deprivation is not a good thing for you.”

 

Bruce rubs his eyes. “Probably not, but I’m not sure how else to keep the nightmares from coming, and I don’t—I don’t want to risk another incident.”

 

Tony gives him a long, considering look. “Why don’t we try something new then?”

 

“What’s that?” Bruce asks suspiciously.

 

“You and me in a bed,” Tony replies cheerfully.

 

Bruce levels a skeptical look at him. “Are you just trying to get me to sleep with you?”

 

“Always,” Tony replies. “We can try sex as a way to relax you, too. Just say the word.”

 

Bruce is more tempted than he has any right to be. “It might not be safe.”

 

“We’ll save that for another night, then,” Tony replies. “You know, having someone else there might help me sleep.”

 

Bruce snorts. “You know, if you keep trying to blackmail me, I’m going to stop responding.”

 

“Hey, it’s something to try,” Tony protests.

 

“And if I have another nightmare, and you end up sharing the bed with the Other Guy?”

 

Tony shrugs. “I’ll keep the suit in the bedroom, how’s that?”

 

“I think you’re insane,” Bruce says flatly.

 

“It’s been said,” Tony admits. “Good thing for you.”

 

Bruce doesn’t want to put Tony in danger, but at this point, he’s willing to try just about anything. He’s exhausted and heartsick, and he doesn’t want to be alone. Besides, he suspects Tony is just going to bug him about it until he agrees.

 

“We can try it,” Bruce finally says. “I reserve the right to say I told you so if something goes horribly wrong.”

 

Tony smiles. “Sounds fair.”

 

Bruce retreats to his own room to get ready for bed, opting for boxers and a t-shirt to sleep in, since it’s a little too warm for the flannel pants he’d found in a drawer. He pads next door to the room Tony’s using, knocking cautiously.

 

“Come in,” Tony calls. He’s already stretched out on the bed, wearing a pair of pajama pants and a tank top. “You okay?”

 

Bruce sits on the other side of the bed, which is big enough that Bruce is pretty sure he wouldn’t necessarily know he’s sharing unless Tony makes himself known. “I think so.”

 

“You want something?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce shakes his head and yawns. “No, I think I’m good.”

 

Tony smiles warmly. “Glad to hear it. Mind if I read for a bit?”

 

Bruce shrugs, eyeing the tablet in Tony’s hands. The light is dim, and Bruce is tired enough that he’s not sure anything would keep him up, not now that he’s stopped moving. “No, go ahead.”

 

There’s actually something oddly comforting about hearing someone else breathing next to him, and to seeing the dim light from Tony’s tablet and the faint outline of the arc reactor through Tony’s shirt. With that realization, he rolls to face Tony, and almost immediately drifts off to sleep.

 

He’s not sure what wakes him, but it’s not a nightmare this time, and he blinks into the darkness. It takes him a moment to realize that he doesn’t see the glow of the arc reactor, and he can’t sense Tony immediately nearby, but he hears harsh breathing.

 

“Tony?”

 

“Here.”

 

Tony’s voice sounds rough, and Bruce sits up. “You okay?”

 

“Fine,” Tony says. “Go back to sleep.”

 

Bruce fumbles on the light instead, seeing Tony perched on the other side of the bed, his shoulders hunched, tension in every inch of his frame. “Tony.”

 

“You aren’t the only one who has nightmares, Banner,” Tony replies wearily. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

Strangely enough, there’s something about the strain in Tony’s voice that soothes Bruce. Maybe it’s just the chance to help someone else, especially given how much Tony has helped him. “Can I get you something? A drink, maybe?”

 

Tony half turns. “You don’t have to.”

 

“I want to,” Bruce replies. “Be right back.”

 

He feels steadier than he has for days as he makes his way to the living room where he’d last seen Tony stash the bottle of very expensive scotch. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabs a second glass, although he sticks with two fingers, rather than four.

 

Tony hasn’t moved, and Bruce sits down next to him, handing him his drink. “Here you go.”

 

“You aren’t stingy with the pouring,” Tony allows before taking a healthy swallow.

 

“Nothing wrong with self-medicating on occasion,” Bruce admits. “And I trust you.”

 

Tony stares at his drink. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

 

Bruce has seen enough of the Army’s files on him to know that they’d delved extensively into his background, looking for additional buttons to press, so Tony would know about Bruce’s father. He doesn’t respond, though, just takes a cautious sip of his own drink and waits Tony out.

 

He had drunk periodically in college, mostly just to prove that he could and not have to worry about becoming dependent on it the way his father had been. But drinking had always been a social activity for Bruce—one drink at a party, a glass of wine with Betty—or now, a drink with a friend so Tony won’t feel so alone.

 

Bruce doesn’t know what to say; he doesn’t think anything he can say will make a difference, so he leans into Tony, feeling the warmth of his body, the firm muscle, and it feels really good.

 

So good that Bruce wants more; he wants to give Tony something more.

 

He reaches out with his free hand, cupping Tony’s jaw, giving him plenty of time to pull back. Tony meets his eyes with a fearless gaze, serious and intent.

 

Bruce smiles and takes the plunge, thinking that it’s time for him to show his own courage.

 

Tony’s lips are warm and slightly chapped, tasting faintly of salt. His mouth opens, and Bruce licks into Tony’s mouth, his tongue tangling briefly with Tony’s before tracing Tony’s lower lip. Bruce nips at Tony’s lower lip, and Tony leans in for more.

 

The kiss turns dirty in an instant, and Bruce moves his hand to the back of Tony’s head, gripping his hair tightly.

 

Tony makes a noise deep in the back of his throat and returns the favor, his hand splayed on Bruce’s back between his shoulder blades.

 

Bruce breaks off the kiss, and Tony makes a sound that’s pure protest. “Do you know how long my dry spell has been?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce tosses back the rest of his drink. “Not longer than mine.”

 

“Okay, point,” Tony responds, and follows Bruce’s example. “I thought you said it wasn’t safe.”

 

Bruce sets his glass on the nightstand. “I said I didn’t know if it was safe, but I figure that a couple of geniuses like us can figure out how to get each other off.” He cups a hand over Tony’s dick. “As long as I don’t have to worry about my bodily fluids getting into your bloodstream, we’re safe enough.”

 

“I like the way you think,” Tony replies. “Can we at least get naked?”

 

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Haven’t you seen it all before?”

 

“My point exactly,” Tony says, looking at Bruce avidly.

 

Bruce is a little embarrassed by Tony’s frank regard, but he stands and pulls his shirt off over his head, and then takes off his boxers.

 

Tony blinks at him. “Okay, this is great, don’t get me wrong, and normally I would be fully on board with this, but I don’t want you to feel obligated, or anything like that. I want—”

 

“I want you,” Bruce says quietly. “I like you. I think our best chance is if we stick together, and I trust you. Do you know how long it’s been since I could say that?”

 

Tony pulls his shirt off over his head. “I have some idea.”

 

“So?” Bruce prompts.

 

“Totally on board,” Tony says. “Just wanted to be sure you wouldn’t have any regrets.”

 

Bruce smirks. “Just as long as you respect me in the morning.”

 

“With your brain?” Tony replies. “Always.”

 

“Oh, I see,” Bruce teases. “You don’t want me for my body.”

 

“Well, I admit that it’s a _really_ nice perk,” Tony says as he wriggles out of his pajama bottoms, and he’s apparently going commando.

 

Bruce finds that more of a turn on than he expects, and he puts his hands on Tony’s shoulders. Tony puts his hands on Bruce’s hips, pulling him closer. With another tug, he pulls Bruce on top of him, and they’re kissing again.

 

It’s easy after that, to just kiss as though they have nothing better to do, to slot their hips together, for Bruce to wrap a hand around both their dicks.

 

Bruce isn’t quite expecting for it to feel so good, so good that he comes embarrassingly fast, although Tony’s hand has joined his at that point, and he’s not all that far behind.

 

“Been too long,” Tony murmurs.

 

“I’ll get something to clean us up,” Bruce replies.

 

Tony grunts. “No hurry.”

 

“You won’t be saying that when you’re trying to clean up dried semen,” Bruce says.

 

He makes quick work of cleaning up, although Tony’s no help at all, apparently too blissed out from his orgasm to assist.

 

“Thanks,” Tony says, when Bruce has tossed the washcloth on the floor and turned out the light. Neither of them have bothered to get dressed again, and the arc reactor glows with a clear blue light, unhindered by any sort of barrier. “That was great.”

 

Bruce smiles. “Yeah, it was.”

 

For the moment at least, he’s content. Bruce knows he still has a long road until he has any kind of control, but for the first time, he thinks he might just manage it.


	3. A Voice You Can Trust

**Marion Island, Florida, July 2011**

 

“Happy Independence Day,” Tony announces. “What do you want to do to celebrate?”

 

Bruce glances up from his computer. “I figured we’d do the same thing we do every day.”

 

Tony pouts. “That’s all you’ve got?”

 

“Well, we’re on an island,” Bruce points out. “It’s not like we’ve got a ton of options.”

 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Big Man,” Tony replies. “We have a delivery coming today.”

 

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “I hope you ordered more eggs.”

 

“Eggs, booze, lube, a few pieces of equipment,” Tony confirms. “It should be here in another couple of hours.”

 

“You want me to lie low?” Bruce asks.

 

Tony shakes his head. “Not necessary. How are you doing?”

 

Bruce holds out a hand. “Holding steady.”

 

“Good to see,” Tony replies. “Three days and counting.”

 

Bruce shrugs. “Think I might have figured out the trick.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“That would be telling,” Bruce teases. “Who’s making the delivery?”

 

Tony shrugs. “I sent the list to Pepper, and she’s sending someone.”

 

“Is it safe?” Bruce asks.

 

“Hope so,” Tony says. “But Pepper’s smart, and she knows what’s at stake. She’ll make sure it’s done right.”

 

Pepper had indicated that she’s sending someone Tony knows and trusts, so Tony doesn’t have to worry about someone betraying their location. And it makes sense to use a trusted source, but that also means Tony probably won’t be able to send them off immediately.

 

Then again, Bruce needs to get used to other people, and getting a visitor Tony trusts is one way to do that.

 

“Hey, come here,” Bruce says, snagging Tony’s wrist and tugging him closer.

 

Tony comes willingly, cupping Bruce’s face, kissing him, easing his way into it, and deepening the kiss when Bruce opens his mouth, warm and willing.

 

He’s found that Bruce is touch starved and tactile, initiating contact any time Tony’s within reach. Tony’s been pleasantly surprised by Bruce’s desire, but he supposes that going for years without much in the way of pleasant human contact has stoked the fire.

 

And slowly but surely they’re mapping out safe zones, topics of conversation that keep Bruce calm (science, of course, but also, somewhat ironically, politics and current events) and topics best discussed out of doors and away from the house, or on the beach (anything to do with Kimball, Betty Ross, General Ross, human experimentation, the future…)

 

It’s probably a good thing that Tony has sex and science to fall back on, because he’s perfectly happy filling 99% of his time with those two things.

 

Right now, though, it seems that Bruce is content to make out in a lazy fashion, like he has all day, and nothing better to do.

 

Tony approves of that plan.

 

Eventually, though, Bruce pulls back with a warm smile.  “If we take this any further right now, we’re going to miss the delivery.”

 

“I don’t mind,” Tony replies.

 

Bruce shrugs. “I’d kind of like to see if I can have a real conversation with someone who isn’t you, if you’re okay with that.”

 

Tony runs a hand through Bruce’s hair, which is starting to look a little shaggier. “Whatever you want, Jolly Green. If you want to kick them off the island two seconds after they get here, that’s okay too.”

 

Bruce stands and gives Tony a hard kiss. “You think they’ll stay for dinner?”

 

“No idea,” Tony replies. “It probably depends on who it is.”

 

“I should probably see what our supplies look like,” Bruce says.

 

Tony grabs him and won’t let go. “We’ve got hours.”

 

As though the universe is out to get him, Tony’s phone rings, and he groans.

 

Bruce laughs. “You’d better get that.”

 

Tony knows he’s right, but he’s not happy about being interrupted, and he picks up the phone with a flat, “What.”

 

“You know, I don’t have to drop this stuff off. I could just turn right around and head back to the mainland.”

 

It takes Tony a second, but he places Barton’s voice a minute later. “Barton. You interrupted something very important.”

 

“If you guys are fucking each other, I don’t want to know about it,” Barton replies.

 

“Don’t be an asshole,” Tony replies.

 

“Hey, I’m not getting any,” Barton says. “Ergo, I don’t want to know about it.”

 

Tony has to admit that he probably wouldn’t want to know about it if he weren’t getting regular sex, which is why he says, “Twice a day some days.”

 

Bruce glares at him, and Barton groans. “Just for that, I’m throwing your booze overboard,” Barton threatens.

 

“Bruce is cooking,” Tony says. “And you won’t get any if the booze doesn’t show up.”

 

“Banner cooks?” Barton asks. “Is he any good?”

 

“I think so,” Tony replies.

 

Barton snorts. “Your brain is probably sex addled. I’m not sure you can be trusted.”

 

Bruce snatches the phone out of Tony’s hand. “I can’t make any promises about my cooking, but feel free to stay for dinner. I will try to prevent Tony from embarrassing himself, but no promises.”

 

Tony doesn’t actually mind, because this is a different side of Bruce than he’s seen. And it’s nice to see Bruce more relaxed

 

Barton must say something to make Bruce laugh, and Bruce says, “No, we won’t kick you out immediately. Not unless you insult my cooking.”

 

After another minute, Bruce hangs up and hands the phone back to Tony. “Apparently, Agent Romanoff is watching Ms. Potts’ back while you’re away, and Barton is checking in on us.”

 

“You don’t mind?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce shrugs. “I won’t say that I know him, or that I trust him, but he helped get me out, and _you_ trust him.”

 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Tony objects. “But his objectives currently line up with our objectives, so I don’t mind him visiting.”

 

Bruce is quiet for a long moment. “If— _when_ we go back, how good is your security?”

 

Tony doesn’t mention how big of a deal it is for Bruce to even suggest that it’s _when_ and not _if_ he leaves the island. “Depends on where we go, but we can always make it better.”

 

Bruce nods slowly. “Okay.”

 

“Hey,” Tony says, realizing that there’s a point he should probably make. “You sleeping with me is not a _quid pro quo_ thing. You know that, right?”

 

Bruce stares at him. “Of course.”

 

“But I mean after we get off this island and we’re back in the regular world,” Tony continues. He’s not sure how to explain it without sounding like a jerk, or like he wants to ditch Bruce at the first available opportunity. “I’m good with what we have for however long you want it, but if you—”

 

Bruce shuts him up with a kiss, and when he pulls back he says, “I want _you_.”

 

That’s all he has to say, and Tony gets the message. Because that’s just it—Tony believes that Bruce means it, that Bruce wants _him_ —not the vast fortune, or the fame, or the high tech toys. Bruce just wants Tony as he is.

 

Tony doesn’t really know what to do with that, other than to ensure he can keep Bruce around for a very long time to come.

 

~~~~~

 

Bruce is of the opinion that you fake it ‘til you make it, and he figures that rolling out the welcome mat for Barton will be a good way to measure how ready he is to rejoin the world.

 

At night, when the nightmares strike, and he winds up on the floor, his breathing harsh and trying not to transform—well, that’s just between him and Tony and the suit of armor standing guard in the corner of the room.

 

And during the day, Tony doesn’t have to know how often Bruce has to work to orient himself to place and time—when he goes to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, when he cooks a meal, when he makes a sandwich. All of those things allow him to remember that he’s not locked away, he’s free, he’s okay, he’s getting control.

 

He hopes. Bruce hopes that he can get a handle on things, both for Tony’s safety and because he would like to have contact with humans who aren’t Tony Stark, much as Bruce likes spending time with him.

 

Mostly, Bruce wants to prove the Army wrong. He wants to prove his father wrong. He’s not a monster; he’s a man.

 

He’s hoping that Barton’s presence will prove that he’s making strides in joining the rest of the world again, although he’s not entirely certain.

 

Bruce follows Tony out of the house down to the dock, ambling slowly. He goes barefoot most of the time, partly because it’s more practical if he transforms. Tony might insist that he can replace anything Bruce ruins, but Bruce hates the waste.

 

And going barefoot is just another way to remember that he’s safe enough to do so.

 

Tony is just as casual in cargo pants and a tank top, the arc reactor showing through, standing close enough to Bruce for their shoulders to brush. If Bruce didn’t know any better, he’d think they were just another couple of guys on vacation, waiting on a visit from a friend.

 

He likes the feeling.

 

The boat that comes puttering up is an old, battered fishing trawler that has clearly seen better days. Barton pulls it right up to the dock with barely a bump, and he tosses the rope to Tony, who ties it off.

 

“Barton! What the hell are you driving?” Tony calls.

 

Barton grins. “Doesn’t merit a second look, does it?”

 

“Fair point,” Tony admits.

 

“You’re looking better than the last time I saw you, doc,” Barton says, grabbing a wooden crate off the deck and handing it to Bruce. “Island life seems to agree with you.”

 

Bruce shrugs. “I’ve had worse weeks.”

 

Tony snorts. “You have a real gift for understatement, Banner.”

 

Bruce grins. “I haven’t had many better ones. How’s that?”

 

“Better,” Tony admits.

 

Barton rolls his eyes. “Okay, just do me a favor and don’t do anything that makes my eyeballs bleed.”

 

“Hey, you were the one to suggest it,” Bruce points out.

 

Tony stares at him. “What is this?”

 

Bruce shrugs. “He said you were mooning over me.”

 

Tony glares at Barton. “Seriously?”

 

Barton hands him another crate. “It worked out.”

 

Bruce laughs as he heads back up to the house with his load. Between the three of them, they get the supplies off the boat and into the house, including the new equipment that Tony insists they can’t live without.

 

Barton had brought fresh fish—also to give credence to his cover, he claimed—and even Bruce’s slightly rusty cooking skills are up to the task.

 

They avoid any talk of business over dinner. Barton tells a few of his more unbelievable stories of growing up in the circus, and Tony counters with a couple of funny stories involving the suit. No one mentions SHIELD, or Bruce’s escape, or even how long he and Tony might be on the island, at least not until they’ve finished eating, and Tony has poured the first round of drinks.

 

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what brings you here?” Tony asks.

 

They’ve moved to the living room, and Bruce has taken a spot on one of the canvas couches. He suspects that most of the furniture had been chosen with durability in mind, as much as comfort. The dark blue fabric won’t show stains, and will stand up to sand and salt water. The recliner Barton has chosen is made of distressed, scarred leather, probably for the same reason.

 

“Natasha’s watching Ms. Potts’ back,” Barton explains. “Fury thought it might be expedient to ensure that no one tries to retaliate against Stark Industries, and since you’re out of reach, she’d be the next likely target.”

 

Tony winces. “I should have thought of that.”

 

“I don’t think it’s likely,” Barton replies. “And you’ve had your hands full.” He holds up his drink in Bruce’s direction. “No offense, doc.”

 

“None taken,” Bruce says equably.

 

“So, Natasha is watching out for Pepper at the moment, and Ms. Potts mentioned a delivery. Fury thought that it would be better if as few people as possible knew where you were, and that left me.” Barton takes a sip. “Plus, I kind of wanted to see how things were going for myself.”

 

Tony’s expression is a little sour. “And are you satisfied that we haven’t killed each other yet?”

 

“After Los Diablos, I wasn’t too worried about that,” Barton admits. “But this is about as secure as it can be.”

 

Bruce is beginning to feel a little tense. “Is the Army going to come after me here?”

 

Barton shakes his head. “No. There are some hard questions being asked. Kimball and Ross insisted that you were completely under their control. They made it sound—” He stops. “They weren’t real forthcoming about some things.”

 

Bruce takes a quick drink. “Please. Tell me.”

 

“They said the Hulk was completely under their control, and no one knows we switched out your drugs for a placebo, so the top brass isn’t all that interested in repeating the experiment,” Barton admits. “Add to that the fact that they weren’t asking questions as long as Ross and Kimball were producing results, and now they are.”

 

Bruce feels his shoulders hunch, and Tony, who’s sitting next to him, puts a hand on his knee. “I’m not sure I understand,” he says hoarsely.

 

“Ross said you were there voluntarily,” Barton says gently. “Now they know that wasn’t the case.”

 

“Certain pertinent facts were leaked,” Tony adds. “Such as the fact that you believed Betty Ross was dead, and she’s not.”

 

“And that there were a bunch of soldiers killed during your last escape attempt who weren’t,” Barton adds. “Kimball said that it was an accident at the time. He didn’t tell anyone that you were trying to get out.”

 

Bruce drains the rest of his drink. “How did no one know?”

 

“There are a lot of things that people don’t want to know, and so they don’t ask questions,” Barton replies sympathetically. “You just presented too much of a risk, and cost them too much money to try to start the program up again, at least in that incarnation.”

 

Bruce hears what he’s saying—the Army has deemed Bruce to be more trouble than he’s worth, and so they won’t be pursuing him, at least right now. “What about Tony?”

 

“Oh, I think Tony has amply demonstrated that if the Army tries to use him, he’ll turn it around and use them in turn, and just fuck their shit up,” Barton says cheerfully.

 

Bruce feels as though he needs fresh air, and he rises. “If you’ll excuse me,” he manages to say before he breaks for the exit. There’s nothing between him and the door, which is a good thing, because he feels short of breath, and his skin feels too tight, as though he might transform any moment.

 

He walks right to the end of the dock, and then sits at the end and dangles his feet in the water. Bruce wonders what would happen if he started swimming and just headed straight out until he couldn’t swim any longer. Bruce doesn’t think he’d drown; the Other Guy would see to that. But would he keep going until he hit the mainland, or would he come back to Tony?

 

He sits there with his feet in the water and wonders what it is about him that makes it impossible for him to put up any kind of resistance. Why is it that Tony could break free of terrorists in Afghanistan with nothing but scrap metal and his brain and Bruce—

 

Bruce had rolled over for Kimball and let him do whatever he wanted. If Tony hadn’t come along, Bruce would still be under the Army’s control, and he’d be building weapons.

 

Or he’d _be_ a weapon, and lobotomized. Maybe that would be better anyway.

 

Tony plops down next to him. “Did I give you enough time to wallow?”

 

Bruce rubs his eyes. “You broke free of terrorists in Afghanistan, and what did I do?”

 

Tony slings an arm over Bruce’s shoulders. “You stayed sane.”

 

“Questionable,” Bruce counters, but he leans into Tony.

 

The dock faces south, so they don’t have the best view of the sunset, but the setting sun still turns the water orange and gold, and it’s brilliant to see. Bruce doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of watching the sun dip below the horizon.

 

“We’re planning on building in Manhattan,” Tony says. “We’ll power the building with a large arc reactor. But I’m thinking about a Penthouse that opens out onto the roof. You can watch the sun come up, or watch it go down, just as much as you’d like.”

 

“Is that where you’re planning on settling?” Bruce asks.

 

Tony shrugs. “Maybe. The place in Malibu is pretty great, though. Maybe we can split our time.”

 

“We, huh?” Bruce asks.

 

“It wouldn’t have to be, but I’d like it if it were,” Tony replies.

 

Bruce sighs. “I can’t believe you’d want me around.”

 

“Get Natasha to tell you about the Red Room some time.”

 

Bruce stiffens when he hears Barton’s voice. “What?”

 

“Natasha,” Barton says, sitting on the edge of the dock, on Tony’s side. “If you want to talk about brainwashing techniques, ask Natasha. She might actually talk to you, since you have some experience with that sort of thing.”

 

Bruce frowns. “What’s your point?”

 

“Brainwashing is a funny thing,” Barton says offhandedly. “There are all kinds of ways to get it done, but the key is that they do things to make you vulnerable—restrict food, restrict sleep, give you privileges or withhold them, pump you full of drugs. Did you know there’s a whole long unit on resisting brainwashing techniques in the SHIELD academy?”

 

Bruce had never thought of that. “What?”

 

“It’s an intensive course,” Barton says. “It takes months. And then you get refreshers every so often. I doubt you took any of those classes, doc.”

 

“No,” Bruce admits softly. “I didn’t.”

 

“So, there’s a difference between coercion and brainwashing,” Barton says. “A lot of people can stand up to coercion, at least to a certain point. Brainwashing is more intensive, and it’s a fucking nightmare.”

 

“There you go,” Tony says. “You survived a fucking nightmare, so give yourself a break.”

 

Bruce isn’t quite sure he buys it, but he does feel a little better. Tony and Barton had seen the data from his sessions with Kimball, so maybe they know what they’re talking about.

 

“I should probably get going,” Barton says.

 

“Maybe you should stay,” Bruce suggests. “It’s getting dark, and we’ve got the space.”

 

Barton leans back so he can look at Bruce. “You sure I won’t be cramping your style?”

 

“I think we’ll be fine,” Bruce replies.

 

“Well, if that’s the case, I think I’ll turn in,” Barton says. “I should probably get an early start.”

 

Tony gets to his feet. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

 

“I’ll need to get my kit off the boat,” Barton says.

 

Bruce remains where he is, deciding that it’s probably better to breathe deeply and stay calm. He’ll let Tony take over the hosting duties for the moment.

 

Tony leaves him alone, because he seems to have a sixth sense for what Bruce needs, and when Bruce thinks he can stand to have four walls around him again, he heads inside.

 

Tony’s stretched out on the bed when Bruce comes into the room and closes the door behind him. “I wish you’d realize that you got fucked over,” he says. “It’s not your fault that you weren’t able to escape.”

 

“I was stupid,” Bruce says. “I should have checked—I should have known that Betty was still alive.”

 

“And Kimball told you that he knew all the workarounds you had, which means that he would have known if you’d figured it out.” Tony’s not afraid of using indisputable logic on him when the situation calls for it. “It’s not your fucking fault.”

 

Bruce just crawls into bed and lies face down next to Tony. “Keep telling me that, and I might believe it.”

 

“It’s not your fucking fault.”

 

Bruce huffs out a laugh. “Thanks.”

 

“You need to get your minds off things,” Tony says, his tone suggestive.

 

Bruce smirks into the bedspread. “I’m sure you have an idea.”

 

“Let me demonstrate what being fucked over _should_ feel like,” Tony coaxes. “I’ll even give you a hand.”

 

“You’re too kind,” Bruce says dryly.

 

He feels Tony move and straddle his hips, and his hands slip up under Bruce’s shirt. “You did good tonight.”

 

“I freaked out,” Bruce says dismissively.

 

“You took a break, and you didn’t even need a booster,” Tony counters, beginning to massage Bruce’s lower back. “In the future, when we’re elsewhere, I’ll make sure there’s a quiet space.”

 

Bruce hears “for you” and smiles. “Thanks.”

 

“So, you up for it?” Tony asks.

 

“Yeah, move so I can get undressed.”

 

Tony moves off him, and Bruce sits up so he can strip off his shirt and unbuttons his pants. “Now we’re talking,” Tony says, and he’s somehow managed to undress in the meantime. Bruce can only assume that it’s a matter of practice.

 

Bruce has made it a habit of not getting fully naked for longer than it takes to get clean, so he doesn’t have the same experience. Tony pulls his pants and underwear off, and Bruce lets him. Tonight, it suits him to let Tony take the lead.

 

“Come on, shift up,” Tony says.

 

Bruce hadn’t really been fucked before Tony, although Tony’s not the first person to put something up his ass. Tony’s gentle and cautious, working Bruce open with one finger, and then two, and then three, until Bruce is saying quietly. “Come on. Come on, Tony. Fuck me.”

 

“Gladly,” Tony says quietly. “I’ve got you, Bruce. Always. I’ve got you.”

 

Tony drapes himself across Bruce’s back while he’s fucking him with shallow thrusts, a hand around Bruce’s cock.

 

Bruce feels Tony’s lips on the back of his neck, and he rocks back, feeling Tony’s hips shift the angle enough to brush his prostrate on every thrust.

 

He feels the leftover tension dissolve as his orgasm builds, and he has to admit that Tony’s right—this is the best way to get fucked.

 

Bruce comes with Tony’s hand around his cock and Tony’s lips on the back of his neck, and the hard ridge of the arc reactor pressing into his back.

 

Bruce is filled up, and content, and feeling good. When Tony comes, Bruce feels the stutter of his hips, and his tight grip around Bruce’s chest.

 

He lets Tony clean them up, and Bruce curls into him when he lies down, the arc reactor shining brightly right in front of his face.

 

“Okay?” Tony asks.

 

“Yeah,” Bruce replies. “Very okay.”

 

 

~~~~~

 

Barton’s gone by the time they wake up the next morning, although he’s left a note:

 

_See you in a couple of weeks. Let me know if you’re ready for more company then._

 

Bruce frowns. “What did he mean by that?”

 

“Probably if we’d be okay with more visitors from SHIELD, or maybe even Pepper,” Tony replies. “I’d like you to meet her.”

 

“Yeah, of course.” Bruce’s voice betrays his uncertainty, though, and Tony privately resolves to wait and see if Bruce is up for it, or if it’s going to set him back a few steps.

 

Tony steers Bruce towards the lab. “I got you a couple of things.”

 

“ _Tony_ ,” Bruce protests, although he allows himself to be led. “You don’t have to do that.”

 

“Call it a down payment on your future lab,” Tony replies. “I expect great things from you.”

 

There are a lot of things he could get for Bruce, and a lot of things he has every intention of purchasing once Bruce settles somewhere. He has a better idea of the kinds of things that Bruce would work on if he has the choice, which means he could get a computer customized, and get the software that Bruce needs.

 

Actually, he’s _written_ some software that he thinks is going to blow Bruce’s mind.

 

He’s ordered some additional monitors, a few servers to increase the processing speed, and some smart boards that should make it easier to bounce ideas back and forth.

 

Someday, Tony figures he’ll build a lab that suits both of them with holographic projectors to create interactive three-dimensional models. He’s already made a few notes, although they’re dependent on the location. His Malibu house might offer Bruce the privacy and seclusion he needs for the time being, and by the time the Tower is finished, Bruce will be ready for the planned ten floors of R&D.

 

And maybe he’s thinking too far into the future, but he can’t help it. He wants to keep Bruce around for a long time to come.

 

Tony presents Bruce’s new machine to him with a flourish. “Double the power, double the fun. Plus, there are a few Easter eggs on there that I think you’ll love.”

 

Bruce runs a hand through his hair. “This is—this is great.”

 

“It’s not a real lab, and one of these days we’ll have to hit Malibu so you can play with the particle accelerator, but it should let you do what you need,” Tony says.

 

Bruce boots up the machine, and Tony starts setting up the smart boards, and they fall into a comfortable silence.

 

The silence is broken when Bruce makes a surprised, happy noise, probably discovering the program that lets him run the kind of equations that normally requires a super computer.

 

Tony smirks and doesn’t say anything, knowing that his programming will speak for him. That’s not the last happy noise that Bruce makes, and they work straight through lunch and into the late afternoon.

 

“You hungry?” Bruce asks suddenly. “Because I’m starving.”

 

Tony’s stomach growls. “I could definitely eat.”

 

They stick with sandwiches, something easy, and Tony asks, “What were you working on?”

 

Bruce’s expression is somewhat guilty. “A force field.”

 

“I’m guessing this is for the Other Guy,” Tony replies neutrally. He doesn’t like the idea of containing the Hulk, mostly because the Hulk has been contained for years. Then again, he suspects that Bruce is going to need the assurance if he’s ever going to leave the island.

 

Bruce shrugs. “It’s only for emergencies, but it could have other applications outside of containment. And maybe the Army and others would be less inclined to come after me if I could show that the Other Guy isn’t necessarily a danger.”

 

Tony can’t fault his logic. “Fair enough.”

 

“I just want to be safe,” Bruce says quietly, plaintively.

 

“We’ll make sure of it,” Tony promises, although he’s not referring to containment, but rather keeping Bruce out of the Army’s hands, out of anybody’s hands.

 

Bruce looks out the windows, his expression pensive. “And I want to build something that helps people.”

 

“You know I’m on board with that,” Tony replies. “What are you thinking?”

 

He shrugs. “I don’t know yet. I’m just tired of breaking things.”

 

“I wanted to take the company in a different direction after Afghanistan,” Tony replies. “We’re branching out into clean energy, communications technology, you name it. You can be a part of that, Bruce.”

 

Bruce turns to face him. “Do you really think they’re going to leave us alone long enough to make a difference?”

 

Tony smiles. “I think you’re looking at it backwards. If we make a difference, they’re going to have to leave us alone.”

 

**Los Diablos Military Base, New Mexico, October 2008**

 

Bruce stares at the test data, feeling more than a little ill, although that could be the drugs. “I can’t do this.”

 

“You can and you will,” Kimball replies sharply, his usually cordial manner disappearing under a snarl.

 

Sometimes, when Bruce lets himself think about it, he wonders which of them is the bigger monster. Bruce might have blood on his hands, but what Kimball is proposing is the far worse crime.

 

“I haven’t stabilized the serum effects,” he protests. “If you use it as it is, there’s no telling what will happen.”

 

“We have volunteers,” Kimball reminds him. “They’ve given their informed consent. _You_ are here at the Army’s sufferance, Dr. Banner. Remember that.”

 

It’s not the first time Kimball has threatened to throw Bruce into a deep, dark hole, never to see the light of day again.

 

There’s a part of Bruce that would like to call his bluff, to flat out refuse to work on the serum, but he’s afraid that Kimball would go ahead with the project without Bruce’s assistance. And Bruce still believes that he’s the best person for the job, that he’ll take care the way others might not.

 

Still, Bruce doesn’t want to do this.

 

“I can’t,” he finally says. “This is madness, and you know it. After what happened with me—”

 

“We’re starting with better materials this time,” Kimball replies. “We both know you’re no Steve Rogers.”

 

Bruce flinches, hearing in Kimball’s voice the echo of his father’s words. “Maybe so, but this is too dangerous.”

 

Kimball’s eyes are flinty with anger. “Very well, Dr. Banner. I’m going to give you the opportunity to change your mind, and to remind you of what happens when you don’t cooperate.”

 

What happens is pretty much exactly what Bruce expects to happen after his last escape attempt: he’s moved from his relatively comfortable cell to a concrete, dank windowless room with a pallet on the floor, a stainless steel toilet and sink, and that’s it. Meals come through a slot in the door, and it’s barely edible, but the shitty food doesn’t hold a candle to the boredom.

 

Or the solitude.

 

Bruce hadn’t realized how much he relied on seeing his guards on a daily basis. Some are friendly, some are not, but he’d still had some kind of human contact.

 

In this room, there are no books, no television, nothing to keep his mind off the fact that he’s alone. There’s really no way to mark the time, because he has no clock, and he’s not sure that his meals are even coming at regular intervals. The only real way he has to tell time is by the interval between getting a refresher on his medication in the black box on his wrist.

 

Even then, four guards come into his room, and none of them speak to him. They don’t even touch him when it becomes apparent that Bruce isn’t going to put up a fight.

 

He knows they have to refill the dispenser every four to five days, which is the only sure way to tell time, but he loses track of the number of times they enter. He thinks it’s been more than eight, but he’s not entirely sure.

 

Bruce loses the desire to keep track of time, or to get clean, or to do anything. It’s easier to sleep as much as possible, and only wake up when he has to eat.

 

He has no idea how much time has passed when Kimball turns up during one of his medication refreshers. “Are you ready to cooperate, Dr. Banner?”

 

Bruce knows he should say no, but he’s suddenly aware of how gross he feels in the face of Kimball’s neatly pressed slacks and shirt, his well-groomed hair and beard. He hasn’t been able to take a shower in ages, or have a decent meal, or even get really warm.

 

And he knows that if he refuses to cooperate, it will be more of the same for the foreseeable future.

 

Or, he could agree to work for the Army, to do what he’s told, and try to mitigate the damage as much as he can.

 

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice hoarse from disuse. “I’ll play your game.”

 

Kimball smiles, although it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s no game, Dr. Banner. I assure you that this is very serious.”

 

Bruce doesn’t argue, but he knows that this is a game, and he’d better learn how to play, preferably without Kimball knowing that he has.

 

**Marion Island, Florida, July 2011**

 

Privately, Tony thinks it’s probably inevitable for Bruce to lose control inside the house, although it’s been close to a month, and they’ve done all right so far. Bruce has had a few close calls, and he’s transformed twice—once on the beach, and the second time out in the forest behind the house when it became clear he wasn’t going to maintain control.

 

The reality is that they’ve grown somewhat complacent, and they’re not expecting company, and if there’s one thing that’s guaranteed to make Bruce go green it’s a threat.

 

Tony and Bruce are in the lab working on their respective projects in the late evening, and Tony has his music blaring, when Bruce says sharply, “Turn it off.”

 

Tony doesn’t think about it; he just turns down the volume, which allows the sound of helicopter blades to come through loud and clear. “Fuck.”

 

He knows that SHIELD or Pepper, or anybody else who knows where they are, would ensure their arrival isn’t a surprise. Bruce is already starting to look panicked. “Who’s coming?”

 

“We’re not expecting anybody,” Tony admits. “I’ll get the suit. You stay calm.”

 

“Easier said than done,” Bruce says, his voice already deepening.

 

Tony doesn’t waste any time. The suit is in the corner of the room, and he gets into it just as the floodlights hit the house.

 

That’s pretty much the last straw, and Tony can see the green creep across Bruce’s skin. He knows they have a limited amount of time, and he’s set up the lab up at the back of the house in what had been a recreation room. There’s an outside wall, though, that faces towards the beach.

 

A quick calculation tells Tony that it’s going to be far cheaper to blow a hole in the wall than it will be to let the Hulk crash through the entire house—or do whatever it is the Hulk feels like doing.

 

Plus, he thinks the Hulk might enjoy pulling a few helicopters out of the sky if it turns out to be necessary.

 

“I’ve got you, Big Guy,” Tony says. “I’m making an exit, no problem.”

 

He thinks a warning is warranted, since Bruce _hates_ surprises, and he blasts a hole in the wall. It’s not big enough for the Hulk, but it will give him the idea of an exit.

 

Tony blasts his way through the cinderblock wall just in time, because Bruce goes fully green, his clothing falling away, a roar rattling the remaining windows. That’s all the Hulk needs, and he busts through the opening with a snarl.

 

He follows the Hulk out, and spots three black helicopters hovering over the water just off the dock. “Jarvis, I want Fury on the line _now_ ,” Tony orders. “Find out if they sent anybody.”

 

Tony is actually more concerned about what they can’t see, and if they have a big enough tranquilizer, they might manage to take down the Hulk, at least in the short term. He suspects that the Army might be trying to get a little of their own back, and recover some of their former glory.

 

“What is it, Stark?” Fury says.

 

Jarvis has done his usually excellent job of tracking someone down, and Tony says, “We have at least three helicopters at our location. I just wanted to be sure we weren’t going to smash some friendlies.”

 

“Is there an option?” Fury asks.

 

“Given how irritated the Hulk is right now, probably not,” Tony admits. “So?”

 

“It’s no one from SHIELD,” Fury growls. “I’m scrambling a team to your location. Try to stay in one piece until we can get there.”

 

Tony snorts. “What about the other guys?”

 

“I don’t give a flying fuck about them,” Fury snarls. “Hand them their asses.”

 

Tony grins fiercely. “Happy to oblige.”

 

The Hulk is already heading straight for the helicopters, and Tony follows at a minimum safe distance. He wants to be sure that they don’t take the Hulk down somehow, but he doubts they’ll find it quite as easy as they think.

 

Tony hovers at the end of the dock, and watches as the Hulk launches himself off the beach at the nearest helicopter. It’s rather entertaining, since the Hulk clearly enjoys grabbing the tail and yanking it out of the sky, tearing off the rotor, and pulling open the door. Tony smirks when he sees the people in the chopper dive out the other side.

 

He doesn’t bother getting involved because the Hulk is more than holding his own, and it’s rare for him to get a real opportunity to smash the bad guys like that.

 

Hulk goes for the second chopper in spite of the hail of bullets, responding as though they’re nothing more than a cloud of biting insects. He stops the rotor of the second chopper with one giant, green hand and tears out the cockpit window.

 

The third chopper launches a missile, and nothing that Tony has seen indicates the Hulk can’t handle it, but he’s feeling a little left out, so he shoots the missile out of the sky, and then fires on the helicopter.

 

Tony’s pretty sure that the helicopters are only the tip of the iceberg, and he turns to watch the forest behind the house, just to be sure they’re not flanked.

 

The Hulk roars behind him. “Puny soldiers!”

 

“I hear you, Jolly Green!” Tony calls. “But I think we need to be alert for more of them.”

 

Hulk grunts. “Stupid.”

 

“Yeah, we make a great team,” Tony agrees. “We have to wait for reinforcements to get off the island, though, unless you’re willing to swim.”

 

Hulk appears to give that some thought, and then he grins. “Stop soldiers.”

 

“Oh, we’re going for the Whack-a-Mole option, huh?” Tony asks, liking the idea. “I can get behind that. Let’s have some fun, then.”

 

Tony knows that they’re playing with fire, but he suspects that the Army has no idea what kind of beast has been unleashed with the Hulk. They’ve worked so hard at suppressing the Hulk, at using Bruce, at replicating the serum so they can use it on others, they’ve clearly forgotten the first rule of dealing with a force of nature like the Hulk.

 

Sometimes, you just have to let him do whatever the hell he wants, and hope that if you point him in the right direction, he’ll smash what you want him to.

 

That, and the Hulk seems to like—and dislike—the same people Bruce does. And Tony _knows_ that Bruce likes him.

 

“You want to lie in wait and smash them as they appear?” Tony suggests.

 

The Hulk grins, clearly on board with that plan, and the best part is that the Hulk is nearly invisible in the foliage with his green skin. Tony crouches next to him and hopes that the darkness will hide him, although he’s not too worried about being found.

 

The forest is alive with sound around them, nocturnal birds and insects making an incessant noise that is both cover and alarm system. Tony half expects the Hulk to shrink down to Bruce size, but apparently waiting for enemies to appear is enough to keep the Hulk around.

 

Hulk grunts a warning, and the forest close to them goes silent.

 

“Hang on,” Tony cautions. “Let’s make sure they’re not friendly.”

 

The next grunt adequately expresses the Hulk’s belief that there is no such thing as friendly intruders.

 

“Could be Barton,” Tony murmurs.

 

“Not him,” Hulk says. “Smell different.”

 

Tony bows to Hulk’s superior senses. “Okay. Have at it, then.”

 

The Army has apparently sent a platoon of commandos, and they move quietly, but the Hulk is bigger and impervious to harm, and he plucks soldiers out of the trees _exactly_ like a kid playing a video game. Soldiers go flying and Tony just watches, highly entertained.

 

They’re in a good place to fend off intruders. Tony has his armor, and the Hulk is, well, _the Hulk_ , and they pick off soldiers like they’re playing _Duck Hunt_ , and it’s great.

 

They’re waiting for the next wave, if there is one, when Jarvis says, “Sir, Director Fury wanted me to let you know that SHIELD is sending a team and not to treat them as enemies.”

 

“No promises,” Tony replies, mostly because he’s not going to pass up the chance to get a rise out of Fury.

 

“We’re showing no additional hostiles,” Barton says over the coms, which Jarvis has apparently decided to tie into Tony’s headset. “How are you two doing?”

 

“Well, the Big Guy is having fun,” Tony replies. “If he decides he’s done, then I guess we’re done.”

 

The Hulk huffs out a heavy sigh. “No more.”

 

“Yeah, maybe next time they’ll send more people, and it will be more of a challenge,” Tony says. “Hang tight. Barton, I think we’re good. Hey, Big Guy, I think we need Bruce back.”

 

Maybe the Hulk has actually worked out his anger, because he doesn’t respond, just shrinks down to Bruce-sized.

 

“Looks like we’re relocating,” Tony says. “You with me?”

 

Bruce rubs his forehead. “Yeah, guess so. Did I do much damage?”

 

“Just the necessary kind,” Tony replies. “Hang on to me, and I’ll get you out of here.”

 

“What about our stuff?” Bruce objects.

 

“We have people for that, but right now, we need to get out of here,” Tony replies. “I think it might be time to head to different climes.”

 

Bruce snorts. “Where?”

 

“Malibu,” Tony says. “High security, my own place, and lots of toys. Come on, Bruce. _Particle accelerator._ ”

 

Bruce shrugs. “I’ll go where you go. I’d just like to find a pair of pants at some point.”

 

Tony laughs. “I can handle that.”

 

“Then let’s get going,” Bruce says quietly. “I guess we’ll just have to see how things turn out.”

 

~~~~~

 

It turns out that Barton has a long memory, because he turns up with a boat, five other SHIELD agents in black tactical gear, and a pair of pants, which he hands to Bruce. “Emergency pants,” he explains. “I’m adding it to my kit.”

 

Bruce feels himself flush, but he takes the pants gratefully. “Thanks.”

 

“Hey, least I could do, since you did all my work for me. You two ready to head back to civilization?” he asks.

 

Bruce sighs. “I guess we don’t have much of a choice.”

 

He _likes_ this place, and he’s not quite ready to leave it, but it’s pretty clear that the Army hasn’t entirely given up, and it’s probably going to be a lot easier for them to come after Bruce here than somewhere else.

 

Although maybe that means Bruce needs to strike out on his own.

 

Barton also comes up with a spare shirt, although he can’t do much as far as shoes go, and Tony flips up his faceplate once Bruce is dressed. “Okay, so I feel like I’ll be more use in the sky, but it’s up to you, Bruce.”

 

Bruce understands what Tony isn’t saying. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“I’ll take care of him as if he were my own,” Barton insists cheerfully. “We’ll have a great boat trip. You don’t get sea sick, do you, Dr. Banner?”

 

“No idea,” Bruce admits. “But I doubt it.”

 

“We’ll hope for the best then,” Barton says. “Don’t worry, Stark. I won’t let anything happen to him.”

 

Bruce doesn’t trust Barton the way he does Tony, but he’s starting to think that SHIELD is at least serious about keeping him out of the Army’s hands. And while he might not entirely _trust_ Barton, he’s starting to like the guy.

 

“Go, Tony,” Bruce says. “Watch my back from the sky.”

 

Tony flips down the faceplate and flies off.

 

“He’s not one for goodbyes, is he?” Barton asks.

 

Bruce shrugs. “I don’t know. We’ve never had to say goodbye before.”

 

“Pre-wedding jitters,” Barton replies with a smirk.

 

Bruce rolls his eyes. “Can we get out of here?”

 

“Your wish is our command, doc,” he says.

 

Bruce crouches in the middle of the rubber raft, and isn’t sorry to be barefoot with the inch or two of water in the bottom. No one tries to talk to him, and Bruce wonders if they know who or what he is, and if they care.

 

The ship they pull up alongside is black, without any reflective surfaces, and the all of the soldiers scale the hull via a rope ladder, bringing the rigging for the rubber raft with them.

 

“After you, doc,” Barton says. “I’ll be right behind you.”

 

Bruce thinks it’s rather ironic how everyone seems intent on taking care of him, given that there isn’t much that can hurt him. Then again, it’s kind of a nice change, given what the last few years of his life have been like.

 

Scaling the hull is a little scary, given that he’s mostly operating blind, but he keeps moving, and tries not to think. Strong hands pull him over the rail at the top, setting him on his feet and releasing him just as quickly.

 

Barton swings himself over the railing, light as a feather, and he stands just behind Bruce, although he doesn’t touch him. “Okay there, doc? Need anything? Are you hungry?”

 

“Starving,” Bruce admits, since Barton had asked. “I always am after.”

 

“Well, I can’t promise the food will be five star worthy, but it’ll give you the calories you need,” Barton replies. “Come on. Let’s motor!”

 

That last is apparently an order to the others on deck, and he leads Bruce below to a small mess. “I think the MREs we’ve got are limited to spaghetti and beef stew, or facsimiles of the same. Take your pick.”

 

“I don’t care,” Bruce replies honestly. “I’m so hungry, I probably won’t even taste it.”

 

Barton gives him a quick grin. “Beef stew it is, then.”

 

Bruce eats it quickly, and then accepts the next MRE from Barton with a brief thank you. The spaghetti is no better or worse than the stew, but he’s actually starting to feel less hollow by the time he finishes it.

 

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Barton suggests once Bruce has finished and has indicated that he’s full. “It’s going to be another hour or so before we can meet up with Tony and the Quinjet, and get you to your final destination.”

 

Bruce hesitates briefly, because he’s not entirely comfortable sleeping around strangers, at least not without a locked door.

 

“Or we can just hang out,” Barton suggests. “Whatever makes you most comfortable.”

 

Bruce thinks of a question that he’d wanted to ask and hadn’t had a chance. “Actually, there was something I was wondering about.”

 

“Shoot,” Barton says, sitting down in one of the free chairs and stretching his feet out in front of him.

 

“It’s about Sergeant Collins,” Bruce says slowly. “I don’t know if you know, or remember—”

 

“He helped us get you out,” Barton supplies when Bruce stops. “Sure. Good guy.”

 

Bruce feels a cautious sort of hope. “Then he’s okay?”

 

“Sure, he took a day off, made himself scarce,” Barton says easily. “Last I heard, he took the kids to Disneyland and was planning on cashing out and joining the Albuquerque PD. His wife has family there.”

 

Bruce feels a tremendous relief, and he can’t help but believe him. “That’s—that’s good. I know it might seem strange, but…”

 

“Look, Banner,” Barton says quietly, suddenly pulling his legs in and leaning forward, his posture going from casual to intense abruptly. “Stockholm Syndrome is real, no question, but Collins was just a guy doing a job. It was a really shitty job, but it was pretty obvious that he liked you, and he went above and beyond to give us the information we needed to get you out. He’s good people.”

 

Bruce swallows. “Yeah. Thanks.”

 

“Hey, I can get a letter or something to him if you want,” Barton offers. “If you think it would help.”

 

Bruce smiles suddenly. “Yeah, that would be great, if you think you can do it without a risk to him.”

 

“What do you want to say?”

 

Bruce chuckles. “Tell him I miss his wife’s tamales.”

 

“Will do,” Barton promises. “You still doing okay?”

 

And Bruce realizes that he’s just had a conversation with someone who isn’t Tony and isn’t someone intent on controlling the Hulk, and it had even been pleasant.

 

“You know,” he says. “Right now, I am.”

 

~~~~~

 

The trip to Malibu goes better than Tony probably has any right to expect, especially considering Bruce’s reaction to the jet.

 

“I don’t suppose you have a booster,” he says quietly.

 

Tony frowns. “Do you need one? Are you feeling tense?”

 

“I just don’t want to go green at 30,000 feet,” Bruce replies wryly. “Because that would be bad.”

 

Since Bruce is joking, Tony puts a hand on his back and propels him towards the jet. “We’ll be fine. The Other Guy just got a workout, so I think we’re okay.”

 

Bruce actually goes right to sleep as soon as they reach cruising altitude, and Tony finds a corner of the plane to call Pepper. He’s talked to her occasionally over the last few weeks, and they’ve exchanged emails, but not much more than that. Most of Tony’s attention has been taken up by Bruce, a fact that seems to amuse Pepper more than anything else.

 

That’s probably fortunate, since Tony doesn’t see that changing anytime soon.

 

“Do you know what time it is, Tony?” she asks, picking up just before his call goes to voicemail. “I’m actually running your company now, you know. I’m not your assistant.”

 

Tony winces. “Sorry. It’s been a long night. What time is it there?”

 

“It’s 3 am,” Pepper says. “And what do you mean it’s been a long night? Wait a second. Where are you?”

 

“We’re in the air, and we’re headed back to Malibu,” Tony replies. “The Army crashed our little house party.”

 

“Was anyone hurt?” Pepper demands.

 

Tony lets out a laugh. “No, no one was hurt. I had the suit, and I’m not sure Bruce _can_ be hurt, but I had to blow a hole in the wall, and we left all of our stuff behind.”

 

“I’ll make sure someone collects it,” Pepper replies. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’ve been better,” Tony admits. “Working with SHIELD was supposed to prevent this sort of thing.”

 

Pepper hums. “SHIELD may have thought so, too.”

 

“I really hate this fucking power struggle, Pep.”

 

“So, change it,” Pepper replies. “You’re the one who said you were going to change the world with clean energy. Maybe you can change the balance of power.”

 

Tony rubs his forehead. “I don’t even know if that’s possible.”

 

“You’re the genius, so you would know,” Pepper replies. “Is Bruce staying in Malibu?”

 

“That’s the plan.” Tony leans his forehead against the window. “How are the plans for the building coming?”

 

“Things will go faster with you here,” Pepper admits. “We need to finalize some of the engineering specs if you really want it to run on the arc reactor.”

 

“Send me a list of what I need to get done in the next few weeks,” Tony replies. “I’ll put Bruce to work.”

 

Pepper laughs. “And now I see the attraction.”

 

“You’re going to meet him, right?”

 

“I wasn’t sure that was on the table.”

 

“I want you to meet him,” Tony says quietly. “You’re gonna love him, Pep.”

 

She laughs. “Oh, really?”

 

“Yeah, really,” Tony replies. “He’s a good guy.”

 

There’s a long pause. “You really like this guy. It’s not just some superhero, rescue mission thing.”

 

“No, not just that anyway,” Tony says.

 

Pepper laughs. “I’ll see you in a couple of days then, and I look forward to meeting him.”

 

Tony hears Bruce whimper, and he knows a nightmare is coming. “Gotta go, Pep. See you soon.”

 

He hangs up and is by Bruce’s side in an instant, wishing he’d had the foresight to pack a few boosters before they left the island. He makes a mental note to start keeping a supply in the suit, or on his person. Bruce had been doing so well lately that Tony had gotten lazy.

 

Tony crouches in the aisle and calls out softly, “Come on, Bruce. You’re fine. I’m here. It’s just a nightmare.”

 

He doesn’t touch him, because that’s guaranteed to bring Bruce out swinging, or to make him think that he’s right back in the Army’s control. When Bruce starts to wake up, when recognition sparks in his eyes, then Tony can touch him.

 

Bruce whimpers again, a sound that breaks Tony’s heart. “Hey, come on, Big Guy. Wake up now. You’re good. You’re _golden_. We’re flying towards a fucking particle accelerator, and it’s all yours, I swear.”

 

Bruce’s eyes open, and he stares blindly at Tony for a moment before he closes them again. “Sorry. Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

 

“No apologies needed,” Tony assures him. “Hey. You’re not even a little bit green, we’re in a private jet, we’re okay. You’re okay.”

 

 _Now_ he can reach out and touch, and he pulls Bruce up and leads him to the bench in the back, where Tony had once sprawled with Rhodey on the way to Afghanistan while the flight attendants stripped.

 

That seems like a lifetime ago—more than a lifetime ago—and Bruce is stiff at first, but Tony knows how this goes by now.

 

With all the shit that Bruce has gone through, Tony wishes Bruce wasn’t so ashamed of what had happened. It’s like he keeps comparing himself to Tony and coming up short, but Tony thinks Bruce has it backwards.

 

Bruce is the one who held up under five years of sustained brainwashing and torture.

 

“Hey, come on,” Tony coaxes. “You had a rough day. Just stretch out with me.”

 

It’s not ideal, because there really isn’t enough room for both of them, but Tony pulls Bruce to lie on top of him, and runs his hands up and down Bruce’s back, pushing his hands up under Bruce’s borrowed t-shirt. His muscles are tight and tense, and Tony moves one hand up to the back of his neck, beginning to work on the knots he finds there.

 

“Sorry,” Bruce mutters against the side of his neck.

 

“Shut up,” Tony orders. “If you didn’t have a nightmare after that, I’d be worried about you. Like, I’d think you were on drugs or something.”

 

“I am on drugs,” he replies.

 

Tony scratches the back of Bruce’s head. “Only on occasion. Do you need something? Because I can probably—well, okay, I’ve got alcohol. You could drink a lot.”

 

“I don’t think that’s an answer,” Bruce says.

 

“We could have sex.”

 

“Tempting, but I’m so fucking exhausted I don’t think I can get it up right now.”

 

“Should I lay in a supply of Viagra?”

 

“You’re such an asshole,” Bruce replies, but he’s lax against Tony now as the tension seeps out of him, and Tony knows that feeling. He knows when Bruce’s nightmare has passed enough, when he’s relaxed enough to sleep again.

 

“Guilty.” Tony decides not to bring up the meeting with Pepper. “Go back to sleep. You know you sleep better when you’re on top of me.”

 

Bruce snorts. “Such an asshole.”

 

“Love you too, String Bean.”

 

Bruce grunts, but he grabs Tony’s t-shirt in a fist, and that’s good enough for Tony. He’s pretty sure that Bruce hasn’t slept since his transformation, and he’s pretty sure it’s because Bruce didn’t feel safe enough.

 

But with Tony, he does. That means more than Tony will ever admit.

 

~~~~~

 

Bruce wakes slowly, wiping the drool from his chin with a surreptitious movement. It’s too much to hope for that Tony won’t notice, considering the wet patch on his shirt.

 

“Don’t, I think it’s adorable.”

 

“You think everything I do is adorable,” Bruce protests.

 

Tony’s chest vibrates with his chuckle. “Since _you_ are adorable, I think that follows.”

 

“You’re ridiculous.”

 

“Possibly,” Tony admits. “You ready to go home?”

 

Bruce considers that for a moment. He hasn’t had a home in so long, he doesn’t know what to do with the word. He’d never allowed himself to think of the base as his home, and before that, there had been his apartment with Betty, but Bruce hasn’t really put down roots, not in a long time.

 

And yet, here’s Tony, offering up his home and including Bruce in a way that feels like Bruce might finally get to have a home to go to.

 

“Yeah,” Bruce finally says. “How long have you been waiting for me to wake up?”

 

“Not as long as I would have waited,” Tony replies. “But yes, it’s almost noon. The car is sitting outside, and we can head out whenever you’re ready.”

 

Bruce pushes himself to a sitting position. “How long were you going to keep them waiting?”

 

“They work for me,” Tony counters. “And you were sleeping peacefully. Also, without nightmares.”

 

Bruce rubs his eyes. “Yeah, I did. It was pretty great.”

 

“Hence, my not waking you,” Tony replies. “You hungry? We can stop for food on the way.”

 

Bruce realizes that he’s _starving_. “Yes.”

 

“I love it when you ask for what you want,” Tony says approvingly. “What do you want?”

 

Bruce frowns. “What do you mean? About me not asking for what I want?”

 

“You don’t, usually,” Tony replies. “Sometimes you go for it, but only when it’s right in front of you.”

 

Bruce can’t argue with him. “Okay, yes. Although if it’s you, my resistance is nil.”

 

“You say the sweetest things,” Tony replies. “We’ll stop for food on the way.”

 

Tony’s driver doesn’t bat an eyelash at Bruce’s barefoot state. “Mr. Stark, it’s good to see you again,” he says.

 

“You too, Happy,” Tony replies. “This is Bruce Banner. Anything he needs, he gets. And right now, we both need food. Bruce? Burger joint of choice?”

 

Bruce thinks about it for a moment. “In-n-Out.”

 

“That’ll do. Happy?”

 

“Taken care of, boss,” Happy replies. “We’ll stop on the way. Ms. Potts said she’d meet you at your place tomorrow.”

 

“Perfect,” Tony says.

 

The burgers are just as Bruce remembers them, and Tony doesn’t bat an eyelash when Bruce orders two with the works. He just doubles the order of fries and watches as Bruce scarfs the first burger, although he slows down with the second.

 

“Better?” Tony asks once Bruce is finished.

 

“Yeah,” Bruce replies. “I’m always hungry after.”

 

“Didn’t Barton feed you?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce shrugs. “He fed me. I was still hungry.”

 

“Well, never let it be said that I let my friends go hungry,” Tony replies. “You need to stop somewhere else?”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I’m good.”

 

The car winds its way up to Tony’s Malibu mansion. Bruce has actually seen pictures. There was a spread in some magazine that Collins managed to give him, a house beautiful sort of thing.

 

The scenery is breathtaking, the road winding up a long hill along a well-paved road, through trees and past well manicured green spaces. It’s lush and orderly and peaceful.

 

“Do you get a lot of visitors here?”

 

“Not many,” Tony replies. “People know where I live, but I’m not exactly in the phone book.”

 

Bruce frowns. “But the Army knows where to find you.”

 

“No help for that, Big Guy,” Tony admits. “They weren’t supposed to know about the private island. Hiding in plain sight seems like a legitimate alternative at this point. Also, particle accelerator.”

 

“You keep saying that like it means something,” Bruce says.

 

“How many times have you had one of your very own to play with?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce tries to suppress his smile, but without much luck. “Never.”

 

“There you go,” Tony says. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

 

Happy pulls up in front of the mansion, and Bruce gets out, feeling strange. He’s barefoot and wearing borrowed clothes, and he’s faced with the overwhelming evidence of Tony’s wealth.

 

“I’m not sure I belong here,” Bruce murmurs.

 

Tony snorts. “I own the place, which means that if I say you belong here, you do. And you do.”

 

Bruce shrugs. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d really like to get a shower, and maybe some clean clothes.”

 

“No problem, I’ll show you around and introduce you to Jarvis.”

 

Bruce has heard about Jarvis, Tony’s AI, and he’s curious. “I’d like that.”

 

When they’re in the foyer, Tony calls, “Jarvis, this is Dr. Bruce Banner. Bruce, Jarvis.”

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Banner,” a British voice says. “Welcome.”

 

“Thanks,” Bruce replies.

 

“I’ll give you the grand tour later,” Tony promises. “Right now, there’s a hot shower with your name on it.”

 

Bruce isn’t sure that he wants to be alone, and he says, “Is it big enough for two?”

 

“As a matter of fact, it is,” Tony replies.

 

Bruce isn’t surprised to find that Tony’s mansion is a hedonist’s dream, at least what Bruce can see of it. Tony’s bedroom is huge and surrounded by windows, and the bed is similarly sized.

 

“Jarvis, windows,” Tony calls, and the windows turn opaque.

 

For some reason, that impresses Bruce more than anything else has so far. “That’s cool.”

 

“That’s not the only thing that’s cool,” Tony promises. “Come on. You haven’t seen the bathroom yet.”

 

The shower is huge and big enough for several people, and there are half a dozen showerheads to let out an unending stream of hot water.

 

Bruce can’t help but compare it to the tiny cubicle of a bathroom he’d had on the base, where the water had been no more than lukewarm most of the time, and had come out more as a trickle.

 

He thinks about what Barton had said about brainwashing, and realizes that’s another way they’d controlled him.

 

Tony pushes his hands under Bruce’s t-shirt and pulls it off over his head. “Okay?”

 

“Yeah, more than,” Bruce replies. He pushes his pants down.

 

“Commando, huh?”

 

“I draw the line at borrowing underwear,” Bruce admits.

 

“Right behind you,” Tony assures him.

 

The hot water feels amazing on Bruce’s skin, and he closes his eyes, feeling the last of the tension seep away. He feels Tony behind him, his hands slick with an expensive smelling soap roaming over his back.

 

Bruce groans. “That feels good.”

 

Tony’s hands knead Bruce’s muscles. “That’s the point.”

 

“I just don’t see why you even try,” Bruce mutters.

 

Tony’s hands come around his front, beginning to tease his dick. “Well, I could say that I just want you for your body, but we both know that’s not true.”

 

“What is it that you’re interested in?”

 

“Body, brain, I’m thinking the whole package,” Tony replies, beginning to jack him off. “Basically, pretty much you.”

 

“But why?”

 

“Why do you like me?” Tony asks. “A lot of people don’t.”

 

“A lot of people are idiots.”

 

“Then you do understand,” Tony replies. “Bruce, what do you want?”

 

“Fuck me,” Bruce says.

 

The shower doesn’t lend itself well to that, so they get clean, and Tony takes Bruce to bed, opening him up with careful movements. “I’ve got you,” Tony promises. “I’m here.”

 

When Bruce lets go this time, it’s with the understanding that there’s someone there to catch him.

 

Tony’s the one to clean them up, and then they curl up together in the huge bed. “Do you want to sleep?” Tony asks quietly.

 

“I don’t think I’m that tired,” Bruce replies. “And I think you mentioned something about a particle accelerator.”

 

Tony laughs. “Yeah, I can do that. Good thing for you, we’re about the same size, and I’ve got plenty of clothes for you to borrow.”

 

~~~~~

 

Bruce is cooking breakfast the next morning when Pepper arrives with Romanoff and a guy in a suit in tow.

 

“Pepper! It’s been too long,” Tony says.

 

She smiles at him. “It has been,” she replies with a significant look at Bruce.

 

Tony knows what she’s getting at, and he says, “Bruce, this is Pepper, my right hand, and the head of Stark Industries. Pepper, Bruce.”

 

“Are you guys hungry?” Bruce asks. “I can make extra.”

 

“We already ate,” Pepper replies. “But thank you.” She shoots Tony an approving look, which he has no problem reading.

 

The man in the suit clears his throat. “I haven’t.”

 

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Pepper says. “Agent Phil Coulson, Tony Stark and Bruce Banner.”

 

“It’s a pleasure,” Coulson replies. “I’ve heard a lot about you both.”

 

Bruce plates a couple of stacks of pancakes, and then starts dropping ladles of batter on the hot griddle. “Some of it was good, I hope.”

 

“Barton thinks very highly of you, Dr. Banner,” Coulson says, and takes his first bite of pancakes. “And if you cook breakfast every morning, I may have to arrive hungry.”

 

“Only if invited,” Tony counters, although he can’t blame Coulson. Bruce’s pancakes are really, really good.

 

“Well, maybe just one pancake,” Pepper says, eyeing Tony’s stack.

 

Bruce’s smile is pleased and a little shy. Tony suspects that Bruce likes being able to do something that’s not destructive.

 

“Same,” Romanoff says.

 

Bruce sets about whipping up another batch of pancakes, and Tony realizes that someone had a word with Coulson about how to handle Bruce. He gets antsy around strangers, but if you give him something to do as a distraction, he does a lot better.

 

Having this many people around him that Bruce doesn’t know is bound to make him nervous, and yet making breakfast is a good way to keep him calm.

 

“So, what’s with all the company?” Tony asks. “Not that it isn’t great to have you all here.”

 

It’s not really, but Tony’s not about to say that. He likes having Bruce to himself.

 

“Director Fury wanted us to debrief you on what happened, and give you an update on future plans,” Coulson says.

 

Tony leans back in his chair. “So, what? Are you going to assure us that the Army won’t come after us again? Because if you are, I’m not buying it.”

 

“I wish we could,” Coulson says. “The military still believes that if they can regain control of Dr. Banner, they’ll be on top.”

 

Bruce’s shoulders come up around his ears.

 

“Fuck that noise,” Tony says rudely. “Haven’t they figured out that they can’t just take Bruce without anybody kicking up a fuss?”

 

“Tony,” Bruce protests. “It’s fine.”

 

Tony gives him a sharp look. “It’s not fine, because you’re not up for grabs. I rescued you, so I have dibs.”

 

He says it to provoke a response other than the sheer misery radiating off of Bruce, and isn’t disappointed. “No one has dibs,” Bruce says sharply. “Although if anybody did, it would be you.”

 

Tony smirks. “We could get married. That might make a point.”

 

“It might, but no,” Bruce says decidedly. “If I’m going to get married, it’s not going to be just because I want the Army off my back.”

 

Pepper clears her throat. “What if we made Bruce the vice president of something?”

 

“What?” Tony asks.

 

“From what Natasha has been telling me, the Army thought they could control him because no one else cared, or could intervene,” Pepper says reasonably. “So, if we make a big fuss about making Bruce vice president of one of our new divisions, the eyes of the world will be on him.”

 

Bruce looks alarmed. “What the hell would anybody put me in charge of?”

 

“The real question is what would you _like_ to do?” Tony counters. “And then we’ll put you in charge of that.”

 

“Special projects,” Natasha inserts. “No one will know what that means, but it allows for some flexibility, and it sounds good, especially with SI’s move away from making weapons.”

 

“Works for me,” Tony says. “We can start moving a number of projects into that department—anything for SHIELD, the Intellicrops, and anything else that stands to improve the human condition.”

 

Bruce is staring at him. “Tony, you can’t put me in charge of an entire division.”

 

“Sure I can,” Tony replies. “At least, Pepper can, but as CTO, I think I still have significant input.”

 

“You do,” Pepper agrees. “I think it sends the right message, and if we leak it to the press that you and Bruce are together, that should also send a message.”

 

“That I got my position by sleeping with the boss?” Bruce said wryly.

 

Romanoff smiles. “Sell it as a workplace romance. The Army won’t want anybody to know that they were holding a well-respected scientist prisoner for years.”

 

“Whirlwind office romance?” Tony says. “It could work.”

 

“I think that will work very well,” Coulson replies. “There’s something else.”

 

Tony sighs. “Isn’t there always?”

 

“We found Captain America,” Coulson says briefly.

 

Tony has no idea how he’s supposed to feel about that, so he keeps his expression carefully blank. “Alive?”

 

“He was encased in ice,” Coulson replies, and in spite of his even tone, Tony catches a hint of excitement.

 

It’s probably to be expected, since just about anybody other than Tony would be thrilled to hear that Captain America is alive and kicking.

 

Well, maybe not the Army. Tony has no idea how the Army is going to take the news.

 

“And he’s still alive?” Bruce asks incredulously.

 

“He’s fine,” Coulson replies. “We’re keeping it quiet for right now.”

 

Tony frowns. “Please don’t tell me that you need my help for that.”

 

“I think we’ve got it covered for now,” Coulson says. “But we may need your assistance later.”

 

Tony sighs. “Yeah, sure. Just let me know.”

 

“I’m not really sure why you’re telling us about this,” Bruce says. “I mean, it’s great that Captain America is alive, but what does that have to do with us?”

 

“The Army was interested in you because you were trying to replicate the serum,” Coulson points out. “The serum actually worked on Captain Rogers.”

 

“Oh, fuck,” Tony mutters. “Yeah, fine, let me know if you need help hiding him. Recent circumstances notwithstanding, I can probably manage it.”

 

Pepper smiles. “We could hire him.”

 

Tony has always liked the way Pepper thinks. “Do you think you can manage to hide the paperwork?”

 

“That’s not a problem,” Romanoff says with an approving smile.

 

Coulson frowns. “I’m not sure I understand.”

 

“We make a big show of hiring Bruce, and then very quietly add Captain America to the employment rolls under an assumed name,” Pepper says. “We set him up in an apartment under the same name, and we keep it quiet. The Army will be so focused on us getting Bruce, they won’t even think about looking for Captain America.”

 

“That could work,” Coulson admits.

 

“There’s a reason I put her in charge of things,” Tony says smugly. “She’s very devious.”

 

Pepper and Romanoff exchange a look, and Tony wonders if it was such a good idea to pair them up. The two of them together could probably manage to take over the world without so much as batting an eyelash.

 

“I’m not sure what SHIELD is getting out of this,” Bruce says quietly. “Not that I’m ungrateful. I appreciate the rescue. I just don’t know what you want.”

 

Coulson meets Bruce’s gaze without flinching, and his eyes are kind. Tony realizes that Fury had probably chosen Coulson for just this reason—he shows no fear of Bruce, and he knows how to project an aura of kindness. “Director Fury believes that people like you should be given choices, Dr. Banner. Someday, the earth might need you, and then we’ll come to you, and you’ll have a choice as to whether or not you’re going to help. We hope you’ll make the right decision.”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “How do you know I’ll make the right call?”

 

“We don’t,” Coulson admits frankly. “But I’m pretty sure you will.”

 

“Why?” Bruce asks, sounding genuinely bewildered.

 

Coulson just shrugs. “Call it a hunch.” He stands. “I should go. I have a few other things to do today. Dr. Banner, it was a pleasure. You make excellent pancakes.”

 

Bruce is a little subdued when he says, “Thanks. If you see him, tell Agent Barton hi from me.”

 

“Tony, I need to talk to you about a few things,” Pepper announces. “And I need your signature.”

 

Tony doesn’t want to leave Bruce alone with Romanoff, but Bruce says, “That’s fine. I wanted to talk to Agent Romanoff anyway.”

 

“Are you sure?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce nods. “I’ll be fine.”

 

He and Pepper retreat to Tony’s workshop, since that’s one place they know they’ll be alone an uninterrupted. “So, Coulson,” Tony says.

 

Pepper shrugs. “We’ve met a few times. I think Fury’s put him in charge of this project.”

 

“I’m not sure how you got roped into it,” Tony objects.

 

Pepper fixes him with a look. “Number one, you left me in charge, and Fury seemed to think that might put me in danger. Which, thanks for the warning, by the way.”

 

Tony winces, since he hadn’t thought of that himself, and he should have. About as far as he’d gone was to put Pepper in charge of SI. “Sorry.”

 

“Number two, I talked to Rhodey, and we both realized that we can’t exactly do this alone,” Pepper continues. “Stark Industries can provide some protection, but the Army may still try to come after the suit, or Bruce, or even Captain America. We have to work together.”

 

“What are we getting out of this deal?” Tony asks, leaning against his lab bench.

 

“You’re not in Army custody, for one, and you get to keep your boyfriend for another,” Pepper replies. “Tony, think about it. Fury wants to put together a team of people, extraordinary people, with the idea that they’ll become so beloved by the world that no one can touch them.”

 

Tony’s beginning to get the picture. “He wants a team of superheroes.”

 

“The Army wants to build better weapons, but we both know how well that works,” Pepper replies.

 

“SHIELD wants better people,” Tony says quietly. “Who else?”

 

Pepper shrugs. “I’m not privy to that information, but from what I’ve seen, you, Bruce, Natasha, Barton, and Captain Rogers.”

 

Tony doesn’t think it’s much of a team, and he’s never been a team player, but he has to admit that Fury has a point. Isolated, each of them is a target. The Army had held Bruce for years, and while Tony doesn’t think the chances of them doing the same to him are good, they might try. Barton and Romanoff are SHIELD agents, and so they have some protection. The Army has a pretty good claim on Captain America if they find out about him, just as good of a claim as they’d had on Bruce.

 

But if all of them band together, if they use SHIELD and SI for protection, and if they’re seen saving the world, or at least protecting people—that might get them somewhere.

 

“I want to ramp up all of Stark Industries’ non-military projects,” Tony says. “Communications, Intellicrops, the arc reactor, all of it. I want everybody to think of Stark Industries, and think of us as saving the world at the same time.”

 

Pepper smiles, clearly understanding where he’s going with this. “And?”

 

“I want us to be untouchable, Pep,” Tony says. “We’ll still need to make money, but there are ways to do that responsibly. By the time we’re done, maybe we’ll get to the point where we don’t need SHIELD anymore.”

 

“Good,” Pepper says. “Now, about those forms I need you to sign.”

 

~~~~~

 

Bruce has only met Romanoff once before, but he remembers what Barton had said, about asking her about brainwashing.

 

“I spoke to Sergeant Collins this morning,” she says before Bruce can figure out how to broach the topic. “He and his family are doing well. He said to say hello.”

 

Bruce hesitates. “Did you talk to Agent Barton?”

 

“He said you were worried about Collins,” Romanoff says, obliquely answering Bruce’s question.

 

Bruce looks away, out the windows. There’s a part of him that understands the kind of person Romanoff is, that she keeps a lot locked away, and he doesn’t want to pry. He might have allowed Tony under his defenses, but that doesn’t mean Bruce has any intention of letting anybody else in.

 

“It’s okay,” Romanoff suddenly says. “If you want to ask. Barton said you might.”

 

Bruce manages to meet her eyes. “He said you understood brainwashing.”

 

Romanoff’s smile is bitter. “I know what it is to be unmade, and then remade in someone else’s image.”

 

“Then you know what they made me,” Bruce replies, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.

 

“I know what they tried to make you,” Romanoff counters. “Believe it or not, Dr. Banner, you’re doing pretty good for a guy who’s endured years of brainwashing and torture.”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “But I’m not. Sometimes, I’m okay, and others—”

 

Other times, Bruce is hanging onto control by his fingertips, and it’s only Tony who keeps him grounded.

 

“We all do what we can to survive,” Romanoff offers. “Sometimes, we make terrible compromises that horrify us later, but that didn’t seem so bad at the time. You did the best you could, and in the end, you got out with most of your sanity intact.”

 

Bruce snorts. “Who said I was sane?”

 

“Well, at least you can still make good pancakes,” Romanoff says.

 

Bruce actually laughs at that. “Yeah, there is that. If I couldn’t cook, we’d probably starve.” He hesitates. “Jarvis, Tony never did get a chance to give me that tour. Is that something you could do?”

 

“It would be my pleasure, Dr. Banner,” Jarvis replies.

 

Bruce doesn’t say anything to her, but Romanoff trails him as Jarvis directs him through the mansion. They don’t talk much, but there’s a part of Bruce that’s grateful for her presence, because he thinks she might understand what Kimball had done—or tried to do—even better than Tony.

 

“Do you think we’ll manage to keep the Army off our tails?” Bruce asks once they’re back in the main living area.

 

Romanoff shrugs. “Maybe. But even if you don’t, I think the Army will realize that they’ve bitten off more than they can chew with you and Stark. They caught you at a vulnerable moment the last time, but I don’t think they will again.”

 

No, Bruce thinks. The last time, he’d swallowed their lies because he hadn’t known they wouldn’t give him the truth. This time, he would be ready for them.

 

This time, the Other Guy would be ready, too.


	4. The World You Want (You're Making It)

**Malibu, California, August 2011**

 

If it had been up to him, Tony probably would have dismantled the particle accelerator by now, and remodeled his mansion to fill in the holes, but Bruce is having such a good time that he doesn’t even mention it.

 

Bruce has been so distracted with the new toys that he hasn’t even come close to going green. Tony calls that a win.

 

“We could do so much with this,” Bruce says quietly, apparently not yet over the fact that Tony has a particle accelerator in his basement.

 

“Whatever you want to do with it is fine with me,” Tony replies. “I used it for what I needed.”

 

Bruce glances up at him. “How did you know about the new element—have you settled on a name for it yet?”

 

“No, and Fury gave me a recording of my father,” Tony admits. “He pointed me in the right direction.”

 

Bruce frowns. “He told you about the element?”

 

“No, he said I could figure it out,” Tony replies. “That I was his greatest achievement. I figured the rest out on my own.”

 

Bruce snorts. “He couldn’t have been a little clearer?”

 

“That’s what I said,” Tony replies. “But apparently he knew Fury pretty well, so he left a lot of stuff with him.”

 

Bruce sits back on his heels, pausing in his inspection. “Your father and Fury?”

 

“Howard Stark was apparently one of the founding members of SHIELD,” Tony says sourly. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

 

“You and your dad didn’t get along?” Bruce hazards.

 

Tony figures that’s one of the things that hasn’t made the papers. The Starks had always presented a united front in public. “Until I got that message from Fury, that he’d apparently recorded when I was just a kid, I didn’t even think my dad _liked_ me.”

 

He doesn’t ask about Bruce’s father, since the bare bones of the story had been in the dossier SHIELD had put together and delivered to Tony before they went off on the rescue mission. The idea at the time was that being aware of Bruce’s issues and buttons would give Tony a better idea of how to reach him.

 

The reality is that while the Army might have needed that information to control Bruce, all Tony had needed was a couple of weeks, a few snacks, and some TLC.

 

Okay, and an instant connection the likes of which Tony’s never felt before.

 

Still, Bruce hasn’t asked a lot of question about Tony or his past, and Tony figures he owes Bruce some answers, considering how much he knows about Bruce.

 

“My dad was obsessed with finding Captain America,” Tony confides. He hasn’t told many people this, just Fury really, and even then he hadn’t gone into any details. “He was never around to _have_ a relationship with, and when he was, he wasn’t pleasant.”

 

Bruce gives him a sharp look. “How do you feel about SHIELD finding him?”

 

“Who? Captain America?”

 

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Who else?”

 

Tony drops into a chair next to Bruce. “Honestly? I think he would have been better off if he stayed in the ice.”

 

“But?” Bruce prompts.

 

Tony sighs. “Well, I’m not going to let the Army take him into custody, that’s for sure. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

 

“And yet…”

 

Tony rubs his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t want to be responsible for him, and I think I’m going to be, and it rubs me the wrong way.” He decides to turn the tables. “What about you? How do you feel about it?”

 

Bruce chuckles, although the sound holds little humor. “You mean because he’s a marvel and I’m a monster?”

 

“Okay, first of all, I think you’re a marvel,” Tony replies, and watches in delight as Bruce blushes slightly. “Second of all, I like your greener half. He’s great.”

 

“You’re insane,” Bruce accuses.

 

Tony shrugs. “Maybe, but the Hulk likes me, remember?”

 

“Only you,” Bruce says fondly.

 

“I can live with that,” Tony replies. “So?”

 

Bruce shrugs. “I don’t know him, so I can’t say whether or not I’d like him as a person. Do I feel some resentment? Sure. But it’s not his fault that I tested the serum out on myself. That was my choice alone.”

 

“And yet…”

 

“And yet, I can’t help but think that if I’d been a different person, if I’d been made of better stuff, the Hulk wouldn’t be a problem,” Bruce replies. “The Other Guy, I mean.”

 

“Call him whatever you want, but I think you might find that Big Green is useful, more useful than even Rogers might be,” Tony counters. “You’ve got some control now, and it’s only going to get better.”

 

Bruce shrugs. “You might be right,” he says, which is more optimistic than he’s been before.

 

“I know I am,” Tony says. “I’m always right.”

 

“You and your ego,” Bruce says.

 

“You love me for it,” Tony replies.

 

Bruce smirks. “I tolerate you in spite of it.”

 

“Fair enough.” Tony grins, because Bruce really can keep up with him. “But you’re okay with helping Captain America?”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “I wouldn’t leave my worst enemy in the Army’s hands, and who knows what they’d do with Rogers?”

 

“Nothing good,” Tony says. “I think that much is clear.”

 

“So, we give him an assist,” Bruce says. “If he’s been in the ice for the last 70 years, there’s a lot he doesn’t know, and a lot he’ll have to catch up on. He deserves that chance.”

 

Tony sighs. “Fine, be all magnanimous.”

 

“It’s the least I can do, after all the damage I’ve caused,” Bruce replies.

 

Tony shrugs. “I can afford to be magnanimous, too. At least so long as you don’t ask me to be more than civil to him when or if we meet.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bruce replies.

 

“So, what do you want to do with the particle accelerator here?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce gives it a long look. “Actually, nothing.”

 

“Okay, that’s not the tune you were singing a few minutes ago.”

 

“It’s just, whatever I would do with it would be theoretical,” Bruce says. “I want to do something that helps people, that rebuilds things. I want to make things right.”

 

Tony looks at him. “Whatever you want to do. You know I’m behind you.”

 

“I want to find a way to end malaria, and provide clean water, and make buildings earthquake and Hulk proof,” Bruce says. “I want to do something good, Tony.”

 

“Help me with the arc reactor,” Tony says. “Help me figure out how to keep Rogers safe, and I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll help you save the world, Bruce, if you do the same for me.”

 

Bruce looks at him steadily. “Whatever you want. I’m with you.”

 

“I need you with me,” Tony admits. “We’re about to take on the Army. I’d like to be able to take on SHIELD if we have to. With the two of us, I think we might manage it.”

 

Bruce gives him a sharp look. “You don’t think it will come back to haunt us in the end?”

 

“Isn’t it worth it?” Tony counters. “It’s freedom, Bruce. We could actually tell them to go fuck themselves and mean it.”

 

“I’m up for whatever you are,” Bruce replies. “As long as we’re in it together.”

 

Tony grins broadly. “Just you wait. This is going to be awesome.”

 

~~~~~

 

Something settles inside him in Malibu, although Bruce can’t say for sure what it is about the place. He still has nightmares more nights than he doesn’t, and he has one panic attack that requires a booster, as Tony calls it.

 

Maybe it’s because Bruce’s days are full here, and Tony can purchase equipment for the workshop that he wouldn’t have bought for a rental house. He helps Tony dismantle the particle accelerator and fill in the holes, and he and Tony make plans for the future. Long term plans for Stark Industries, and Bruce’s own research, and the arc reactor.

 

There’s something about Tony’s home that feels safe—its isolation, or Tony’s suits, or Jarvis, or maybe the permanency. Bruce suspects that it’s an illusion, and maybe nowhere is safe, but Bruce has long since learned to take what he can get.

 

And what he has right now is better than anything Bruce could have dreamed up, even before the serum.

 

“I just think it would be a good idea,” Pepper says, tapping her pen against the workbench. “The building construction is moving right along, and I know you can do a lot from here, but you should make an appearance.”

 

Tony runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I guess we could do that. I’d like to see how things are coming along.”

 

“Rhodey mentioned that he was going to be in town in a couple of weeks,” Pepper adds. “Maybe after that.”

 

Bruce stiffens. He knows who Rhodey is from Tony, and he knows that Rhodey had been the one to ensure that Tony talked to SHIELD, and therefore had started the ball rolling on his own rescue. But James Rhodes is still military, even if he is Air Force, even if he is Tony’s best friend.

 

“Maybe I should go out to New York early,” Bruce suggests hesitantly. “That way, you can spend some time with Rhodes alone.”

 

Tony frowns. “You don’t have to leave.”

 

Understanding dawns on Pepper’s face. “You can fly out with me if you’d be more comfortable.”

 

Tony frowns. “You’re not worried about Rhodey, are you? He’s my friend. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

 

Bruce winces, wondering if this is going to be the first time he and Tony have a serious disagreement, and knowing that he doesn’t exactly have the option of walking away. “I’m sure he’s great.”

 

“He’s not going to stay here,” Tony continues. “I mean, I’d love for you guys to meet, but if it freaks you out, I’ll meet up with him somewhere else.”

 

Bruce shifts uncomfortably. “You don’t have to do that. This is your house.”

 

“Rhodey never stays here,” Pepper says reassuringly. “You’re not putting anybody out.”

 

Bruce hunches his shoulders. He really hadn’t wanted to make a big deal out of it. “Look, it’s not—I don’t want—” He takes a deep breath and then another. “Sorry. I just…”

 

“What do you need, Bruce?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce is suddenly, irrationally angry, and he’s not sure he can hold it together. He hasn’t had an incident since the Army had attacked them, and he doesn’t want to destroy Tony’s house just because he can’t hold onto his fucking temper.

 

“Tony, go upstairs,” Pepper orders. “There should be chamomile tea in the cupboard.”

 

“Wait, what?” Tony protests. “Pepper, I don’t think—”

 

“Go.” There’s a note of command in her voice that makes it very clear why Tony put her in charge of Stark Industries. “Bring back a mug of tea.”

 

Bruce feels a stab of alarm at being left alone with Pepper. She doesn’t have a suit of armor, and if he loses it, he could easily put her in the hospital. “You should go,” he says, his voice strained.

 

“No, I don’t think so,” Pepper replies quietly. “Tony is incredibly loyal, and he doesn’t give that loyalty easily.”

 

Bruce takes a ragged breath. “What are you saying?”

 

“I’m saying that Tony isn’t wrong about Rhodey, but you have every right to be wary of anyone in the military, even if they are Tony’s best friend.”

 

He manages to look at her, and she stares back at him calmly. Bruce takes another breath. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be sorry,” Pepper replies. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

 

Bruce closes his eyes and breathes. “You’ve got a serious pair of balls.”

 

“I prefer ovaries,” Pepper says on a laugh. “But thank you.”

 

“Wow, that ended better than I expected.”

 

Bruce opens his eyes to see the mug of steaming tea that Tony’s holding out. “Thanks.”

 

Tony makes a face. “Is the tea good, or can I get you anything else?”

 

“I’m okay,” Bruce says.

 

Tony nods uncertainly. “Okay.”

 

“Drink your tea, Bruce,” Pepper says kindly. “Tony, I need to see you upstairs.”

 

Bruce appreciates having the chance to finish pulling himself together, although he’s still feeling a little jittery. He hates the idea of needing something more to calm him down, but he’s grown to recognize the need.

 

Tony keeps telling him there’s nothing to be ashamed of, that he shouldn’t be so hard on himself because he hasn’t been out that long, but it’s hard not to feel as though he ought to be better than that.

 

Once he’s finished his tea, he goes upstairs, half expecting to find that Pepper has fled, but she and Tony are talking quietly. Bruce doesn’t want to ask Tony for a booster in front of Pepper, even though he’s probably being needlessly stubborn.

 

“Hey. Sorry.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony says easily. “You still need that thing?”

 

Bruce hitches a shoulder. “Yeah, if it’s not any trouble.”

 

“I have to be going anyway,” Pepper says, standing. “Tony, think about what I said. Bruce, it was a pleasure, as always.”

 

Bruce blinks. “I’m not sure that’s what I’d call it.”

 

Pepper raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You don’t like seeing me?”

 

“I meant on your part,” he counters.

 

Pepper shakes her head. “It was still a pleasure. I’ll see you again soon.”

 

Tony leads him back to the bedroom without showing Pepper out. “Okay, I think I need to just say flat out that I suck at relationships. I’ve never _had_ a relationship that’s lasted much longer than a weekend. So, if I’m fucking something up, you have to tell me.”

 

Bruce takes the hypo to the side of his neck and feels the tension ease again. “You didn’t fuck it up.”

 

“No?” Tony asks, sitting down next to him on the bed. “Because I feel like I fucked that one up.”

 

“No more than I did,” Bruce says, rubbing his eyes. “I just—got angry. This shouldn’t be so difficult.”

 

Tony stays quiet, just watching him, and Bruce knows he’s waiting for more of an explanation.

 

“I feel safe here,” Bruce finally admits. “And to think the military might come here, even if it’s your friend… It’s stupid.”

 

“It’s not stupid,” Tony says quietly. “I should have thought of that.”

 

Bruce puts his face in his hands. “You shouldn’t have to.”

 

“Bruce, I was dying,” Tony says softly. “I had to rely on Fury for a rescue, which chaps my ass. That it came from my dad was worse. I’m not sorry it had to happen that way, because I might not have met you any other way, but it’s okay to _not_ be okay.”

 

Bruce laughs weakly. “I nearly lost it in front of the head of Stark Industries. I’m honestly shocked that she isn’t busy convincing you to, I don’t know, find me a nice deserted island somewhere in the middle of the ocean, drop in supplies now and again.”

 

“She actually thought it might be a good idea to take things public,” Tony says quietly.

 

Bruce stares at him. “You’re fucking with me.”

 

“I wouldn’t do that,” Tony replies. “Well, maybe I would, but not about this. She wants us to think about it.”

 

“What good would that do?” Bruce asks, completely floored. “I don’t understand.”

 

“It makes it really obvious that if the Army wants you, they have to go through me.” Tony’s completely serious.

 

“They’ve already shown they’re willing to do just that,” Bruce protests. “They came after both of us on that island, Tony.”

 

“And we walked away without a scratch, and they lost a few helicopters, and probably a few men,” Tony says. “Eventually, someone with a brain is going to do a cost-benefit analysis and realize that they probably shouldn’t fuck with both of us.”

 

Bruce stands, beginning to pace. “When are you?”

 

“When am I what?” Tony asks.

 

“You want to go public? With this?” Bruce asks, pointing at Tony, and then himself. “When are you going to figure out that I’m more trouble than I’m worth?”

 

Tony surges to his feet, grabbing Bruce by the front of his shirt. “You held it together today.”

 

Bruce tries to pull away. “Tony—”

 

“No, you held it together with a mug of tea.”

 

“I didn’t want to hurt Pepper.”

 

“And you _didn’t_.” Tony shakes him. “I did the analysis, Bruce. I know what Kimball told you, I know what you can’t help believing, but you’re getting control. It’s getting better every day, and the Hulk can be useful.”

 

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut. “Sorry, sorry, I just—”

 

“This was a bad day,” Tony says quietly. “Okay? You’ve had a string of good ones, and now you had a bad one. You know what those are like, and now that you know you can have good ones, you can hang on until you get past this.”

 

Tony’s right, Bruce thinks. Things have been better, and one bad day doesn’t undo all the progress he’s made.

 

“Hey, come on,” Tony murmurs. “Look at me. I’m as much of a mess as you are.”

 

“No, you’re not,” Bruce replies.

 

Tony kisses him, keeping it light and chaste. “I just hide it better. You’ve been there for my nightmares.”

 

Bruce pulls Tony to him again, getting lost in the feeling of Tony’s mouth on his, Tony’s hands coming up under his shirt, and he lets himself be pushed to the bed. “I can’t—I don’t know if I’m up for much right now.”

 

“Let me suck you off,” Tony says. “Think that might take the edge off?”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “I don’t think I can be out of control right now. But, um, I could blow you.”

 

“If that’s what you need,” Tony replies quietly, sincerely, in the kind of way that tells Bruce he means it, that he’ll give Bruce what he needs as often as he can.

 

And it feels good to have control, to draw out the blow job until Tony’s begging for release, to see Tony’s hands fisting in the covers because he knows better than to hold onto Bruce’s head when Bruce feels like this.

 

His jaw begins to hurt, and Bruce isn’t all that fond of swallowing anyway, so he finishes Tony off with his hand.

 

Not for the first time, Bruce wonders at the level of trust Tony shows him. There aren’t a lot of people who would let Bruce get this close, who would give him this many opportunities to hurt them.

 

He grabs a washcloth and cleans Tony up, and then he strips off his clothes and stretches out next to him on the bed, tugging the sheet up to cover them.

 

“Give me a second, and I’ll return the favor,” Tony murmurs.

 

“No need,” Bruce says. “I’m good right now.”

 

Tony turns his head. “It’s not just the protection going public would give us, you know.”

 

Bruce raises his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

 

“I’m not ashamed of you,” Tony says quietly. “I’d like the whole world to know we’re together, just because.”

 

Bruce rests his forehead against Tony’s shoulder, overwhelmed, feeling Tony scratch the back of his head. He doesn’t get it, and it feels too good to be true, but he drifts off to sleep with the sense that he might have turned a corner.

 

~~~~~

 

Tony had been than a little surprised when Pepper had braved Bruce’s wrath to stay in the lab. He hadn’t thought it was a good idea, but at the same time, he tried not to argue with Pepper when she used that tone of voice.

 

Oddly enough, it worked out just fine. Bruce seemed to have more control by the time Tony returned with his tea, and then Pepper used the same tone to get them both out of the workshop, giving Bruce time to finish pulling himself together.

 

Still, Tony can’t help but ask, “What the hell was that about?”

 

Pepper raises her eyebrows. “You were the one who told me that Bruce is perfectly safe right now.”

 

“Did I say that?” Tony asks. “Because I meant _mostly_ safe, and by mostly, I mean that having access to the suit is not a bad idea.”

 

Pepper sits down, crossing her legs. “Bruce knows that he can let go with you,” she points out. “He can’t do that with me.”

 

“And? So?” Tony pushes impatiently, mostly because he’s worried, and knows that he somehow screwed things up with Bruce and he has no idea what he’d done.

 

He can’t fix the problem if he doesn’t know how he fucked it up.

 

Pepper sighs. “Tony, he needs to know that he can pull back from the edge, and if he’s going to manage it, he needs a good reason to do so. Besides, you were kind of pushing him to meet Rhodey, and it was making him anxious.”

 

“I wasn’t pushing!” Tony protests.

 

Pepper gives him a look. “No, not from where you’re standing, and it didn’t look like pushing to me either, but Bruce is still a guest in your house. He doesn’t think he has veto power, and he owes you a lot. He’s going to bend over backwards to make you happy, even if it scares him shitless.”

 

Pepper rarely swears, so Tony knows she’s serious. “Okay, so what do I do?”

 

“Next time Bruce suggests he be elsewhere, take it as a demand and not a suggestion,” she replies. “Either that, or make it very clear to Bruce and to the rest of the world that he’s an equal partner in this, so he _does_ have veto power.”

 

Tony turns that over in his head. “You’re suggesting going public.”

 

“It’s a possibility,” Pepper says. “Think about it, anyway. The Army can come after you and Bruce as individuals, but they might hesitate if they know it’s not just a business relationship. Plus, once you and Bruce start making SI ungodly amounts of money, the board will back you to the hilt, and they’re powerful people in their own right.”

 

Tony sighs. “You’ll get your phone and your tablet, and it will be better than anything else on the market, Pep, I swear. Plus, with the arc reactor technology, companies will be beating down our doors to get access.”

 

“The prototype will last a year.”

 

“It’s going to save money and the planet at the same time,” Tony argues. “In another year, maybe two, we’re going to have a model that could power more than just one building.”

 

“You do that,” Pepper replies. “And then figure something else out, because I know you can.”

 

Tony smirks. “What? You want a cure for cancer?”

 

“Do that, and you’ll have the whole world eating out of your hand,” Pepper replies. “But yes, I think that’s how you need to think going forward.”

 

Tony considers it. “And going public with Bruce?”

 

“Is there something he wants to work on?”

 

“Preventing malaria, maybe some other things,” Tony admits.

 

“Then let him do that, and go public with it,” Pepper replies. “Honestly, unless you’ve actually seen the Hulk in action, the chances of anyone believing that Bruce and the Hulk are one and the same are slim to none. Let him be known as Bruce Banner first and foremost. He’ll be safer.”

 

Tony can’t argue with her. “Do you think that will work?”

 

“I hope so,” Pepper replies. “Because I’d hate to be forced to move all of Stark Industries offshore. Not that I won’t, if that’s what it comes to.”

 

Tony can think of a few countries that would welcome him with open arms, and he tucks that away. That might be a threat worth using at some point.

 

Bruce emerges from the workshop then, and Tony can immediately tell that he’s still on edge. Tony manages as graceful an exit as he can for Pepper while still allowing Bruce to save face, and they retreat to the bedroom.

 

In retrospect, Tony thinks he can understand where Bruce is coming from, and he realizes that Pepper’s suggestion has merit. If Bruce looks at the Malibu place as his own, at anywhere Tony is as home, he might feel more comfortable saying no when Tony has a friend coming into town, rather than automatically assuming he needs to make himself scarce.

 

And maybe he’ll finally get the picture that Tony doesn’t view him as a monster, but as one of the few people Tony views as an equal.

 

Tony sleeps next to Bruce, and when he wakes, he knows what he wants to do. It’s just a matter of figuring out if Bruce is going to be on board.

 

Bruce is still sleeping when Tony wakes up, and he slips out of bed and gets dressed, starting the coffee brewing. Given what Pepper had said, he’s not terribly surprised when Rhodey calls.

 

“Tony! How’s it going?” Rhodey asks when Tony answers the call, his face appearing on the videophone screen.

 

Tony shrugs. “It’s going. Pepper said you’re going to be in town pretty soon.”

 

“Yeah, I thought I’d stop in,” Rhodey replies. “Director Fury said you were successful.”

 

“I got Banner out, if that’s what you mean,” Tony replies. “And I’m no longer dying of palladium poisoning, so I’d say that was a success.”

 

“When am I going to meet this guy?” Rhodey asks.

 

“Frankly, when a uniform doesn’t give him a panic attack,” Tony says. “Which, trust me, you don’t want to see.”

 

Rhodey grimaces. “Fair enough. I’d probably be twitchy in his shoes, too. I’ve stuck my neck out for you far enough already. Do you want to meet up somewhere else?”

 

Tony wonders why Pepper and Rhodey can see it so clearly, where he couldn’t, and he has to admit that he has something of a blind spot where his friends are concerned. Pepper and Rhodey get along well, maybe better than Tony would like at times. Pepper and Bruce seem to be building a rapport as well.

 

He has to accept that it’s going to take time, maybe a long time, before Bruce is even comfortable enough to be in the same room as someone in uniform. Even if Rhodey had put his career in jeopardy to protect Tony.

 

“That will work,” Tony agrees.

 

Rhodey frowns. “This thing between you and Banner, what’s up with that?”

 

“He’s my new partner,” Tony replies. “If Bruce is on board, I plan on making an official announcement when we go to New York.”

 

“You’re throwing your hat in with SHIELD then,” Rhodey replies.

 

Tony holds up his hands. “Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

 

“I hoped SHIELD would afford you some protection,” Rhodey replies. “I just wasn’t sure you’d stick with them.”

 

“We plan on forging our own path,” Tony replies. “But we’ll work with SHIELD as long as it suits us.”

 

“Good plan,” Rhodey agrees. “I’ll give you a call when I’m in town.”

 

“See you soon,” Tony says. He’s still drinking coffee and going over plans for the arc reactor for the building in Manhattan, figuring out where he can incorporate new efficiencies to make it run longer, and power more buildings, even entire cities.

 

If he can do that, Tony knows that he’ll be untouchable.

 

Bruce wanders out sometime later wearing rumpled khakis and a wrinkled t-shirt. “Are you hungry?”

 

“Starving,” Tony admits. “I think there’s a frozen pizza somewhere if you don’t want to cook.”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I don’t mind. Cooking grounds me.”

 

“Then by all means,” Tony replies.

 

It makes sense, in a way. Bruce had lived in a tiny room for years, dependent on the Army for food, and Tony had eaten that shit. He suspects that cooking is a way for Bruce to remind himself of where he is, and how much has changed.

 

Before long, Bruce has a pot of pasta boiling, and the scent of tomatoes and garlic cooking fills the kitchen. “What is that?”

 

“Pasta pomodoro,” Bruce replies. “It’s one of the first things I learned how to cook.”

 

“Who taught you?” Tony asks, suddenly curious.

 

Bruce shrugs. “I’m self-taught, mostly. I didn’t have any money to go out in college and grad school, so if I wanted to take a girl out, I found out that it was easier to cook for her.”

 

“Had a lot of girls over, did you?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce stops, and says hesitantly. “No, not really. I was pretty focused on my studies.”

 

Tony has a sudden suspicion. “Just Betty, then?”

 

“She was my only serious girlfriend,” Bruce confirms. “I thought we’d spend the rest of our lives together.”

 

Tony thinks about that for a minute. “You know, you could contact her. It’s not like the Army doesn’t know where we are.”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “That was another life, Tony. I can’t go backwards, only forward.”

 

“Are you afraid of what she might think?” Tony asks, knowing he probably shouldn’t push and unable to help himself.

 

Bruce keeps his back to Tony. “No, I’m afraid to find out that she knew.”

 

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think she did,” Tony says.

 

“Her father is General Thaddeus Ross,” Bruce replies. “I won’t make her choose between us. It’s better if that’s an end to it.”

 

“Whatever you want,” Tony replies. “I just wanted you to know it was an option.”

 

Bruce nods. “I appreciate it.”

 

“So, wait, does that mean I was the first guy for you?”

 

Bruce turns so that Tony can see his eye roll. “Trust you to fixate on that.”

 

“Was I?”

 

Bruce sighs. “What do you think?”

 

“I guess there’s no sense in asking for a comparison, since you wouldn’t have one,” Tony teases.

 

“And if I wanted to inflate your ego more than it is already, I’d say I’m not sure anyone could compare with you,” Bruce tosses back with a smirk. “Even if I had experience to match yours.”

 

“Now you’re just flattering me,” Tony says.

 

Bruce shrugs. “Maybe, but just because it’s flattery doesn’t mean it’s not also true.”

 

Tony realizes that he’s actually blushing. “Yeah, well, how soon is dinner going to be done?”

 

Bruce smirks at him. “Just a few more minutes.”

 

Tony watches him, and asks, “Have you thought any more about it?”

 

“About what?”

 

“Making the announcement?”

 

Bruce faces him, his expression serious. “If that’s what you want. I think I’m getting the better end of the deal.”

 

“Debatable, considering you’re the one who can cook,” Tony counters.

 

Bruce shrugs. “I don’t want the Army coming after us again. If we can avoid it, then let’s make the announcement.”

 

“That’s not exactly the ringing endorsement I was hoping for,” Tony says.

 

Bruce gives him a long look. “You are the only person I want to be with, and I’d be happy to go on national television and say just that.”

 

Tony can see how serious he is, and he thinks of all the women he’s bedded who would happily have told the world they’d slept with him, but they’d wanted him for his money and power and his prowess in bed.

 

Bruce wants _him_ , and maybe Bruce needs him, and Tony thinks that this is a partnership that could last.

 

“You’re on,” Tony replies.

 

**Manhattan, New York, September 2011**

 

Bruce looks out over the Manhattan skyline from the Penthouse suite of a hotel he could have only dreamed of staying at ten years ago, when he’d thought he was at the height of his career.

 

Three months ago, of course, Bruce had thought he’d never leave Los Diablos, so he feels more than a little spun.

 

“Okay there, Big Guy?” Tony calls, exiting the bathroom and straightening his tie.

 

“Just trying to wrap my head around this,” Bruce admits. “When do we need to leave?”

 

Tony smirks. “That’s the beauty of being the boss. They’ll wait on us.”

 

“I’m guessing Pepper wouldn’t agree with you there,” Bruce jokes.

 

Tony grins. “If we’re late, I’ll blame you.” He holds out Bruce’s jacket and helps him into it, running his hands over Bruce’s shoulders to settle it.

 

“I see how this is,” Bruce grumbles. “You tell everyone I’m feeling a little twitchy, and no one complains.”

 

Tony turns him around and runs his hands over Bruce’s lapels. “I was actually thinking about telling them that you have a voracious appetite for sex, and it’s in my best interests to keep you happy.” When Bruce laughs, Tony says, “Tie, or no tie?”

 

“I’d rather skip the tie,” Bruce says. “I always feel like I’m being strangled.”

 

Tony pulls him in for a kiss. “They are handy for hanging onto, though.”

 

“You’re a genius,” Bruce replies, and deepens the kiss. “You’ll figure it out.”

 

Tony rests his forehead against Bruce’s. “You remember the signal?”

 

“Would that be where I tell you that I’m feeling a little green?” Bruce jokes.

 

“That would be the signal.” Tony pulls Bruce in for a hug. “I’ve got a couple of doses of your booster on me, and I made sure Natasha had a couple too, just in case we get separated, or something happens.”

 

Bruce pulls back. “What do you think is going to happen?”

 

“I don’t think anything is going to happen, but given our luck, I’d prefer to be prepared for the worst,” Tony replies. “Today should be easy, since it’s mostly just a bunch of meetings with the board and a few news outlets. Tomorrow, we’ll meet Captain America.”

 

Bruce makes a face. “Great.”

 

“I thought you’d be excited,” Tony says.

 

“I’m sure he’s really nice,” Bruce says. “But I’m petty and jealous.”

 

“Jealous, maybe, but I don’t think you’re petty,” Tony replies. “Maybe he’ll be a complete dick in person.”

 

Bruce laughs. “One can only hope.”

 

The day is a whirlwind of activity. Over the last few weeks, they’ve done a ton of work on various products, some to please them, and some to please the board of SI. He and Tony have worked on the arc reactor until they have a model that will power a building for at least a year, and probably more like two or three with a couple of alterations. Tony has the next generation of phones and tablets that will take the market by storm in another year or so, and will probably make Stark Industries even more insanely wealthy.

 

Bruce is nervous, although he’s done plenty of presentations like this in the past, but that was in another life.

 

“Um, I’ve been working on a method of inexpensive water reclamation,” Bruce begins, “which can be used in both arid climates and to desalinate ocean water. As I’m sure you’re all aware, in drought prone areas, this could be a key means of ensuring the success of both crops and animal husbandry.”

 

The water reclamation plans are something that Bruce has been thinking about for a long time, although he didn’t have much hope that he’d ever be able to follow through—not unless the Army started using him for humanitarian projects. But it’s the one that’s most complete and ready to be presented to the board, and it has the widest variety of uses.

 

Bruce wants to be sure that the technology can be used in places where it would do the most good, but he trusts Tony when he says he’ll make that happen.

 

When the world sees what Tony Stark and Bruce Banner can do for clean energy and water—well, it’s going to change the world.

 

And that’s just for starters.

 

When he and Tony are finished, Bruce is a little surprised when all of the board members come up to shake his hand.

 

“I just know that you’re going to do great things with this company,” one man—Bruce can’t remember his name—says. “Great things.”

 

“I’m not sure I understand,” Bruce says in an undertone as they finally make their escape.

 

Tony’s grin holds an edge. “Your tech is both large and small scale, Bruce. On the small scale, we can hand it out for free to villages and communities to ensure they have potable water. On a large scale, we can sell it to large companies or even countries that need to clean up their messes. The technology is different enough that we can do both.”

 

Bruce begins to see the point. “But that’s not—”

 

“Don’t you want to make bad actors pay, Bruce?” Tony says quietly. “Because I guarantee that most of them would have to be blown up by their own weapons before they understood the gravity of what they have wrought.”

 

Bruce knows Tony is speaking from experience. “I don’t think that’s the same thing.”

 

“Sure it is,” Tony replies. “Look, don’t worry about it. I’ve made sure that anything you create, any patents you hold, are yours alone, not the property of Stark Industries.”

 

Bruce stops in his tracks. “What?”

 

“Didn’t you read the employment contract Pepper asked you to sign?” Tony asks innocently.

 

Bruce had, but he’d skimmed over the part about patents, because he’d assumed that anything he created on Stark Industries’ time or with their resources would belong to the company. He’d been more interested in ensuring that he could leave if he didn’t like the direction the company was taking.

 

Not that he’s worried about that with Tony at the helm, but things change, sometimes abruptly, and he wanted an escape clause.

 

“I’d assumed—”

 

“I know what the standard clause says,” Tony replies, cutting him off. “But I also know what it’s like to see my creations in the hands of people I don’t trust. I wanted to be sure you never had to deal with that.”

 

Anything Bruce might have said to express his gratitude is cut off when Pepper and Natasha join them.

 

“Well done, both of you,” Pepper says smugly. “Not only does Stark Industries get to stay ahead of the curve in technology, but we get to market ourselves as a company that cares about the world in general.”

 

“Don’t you?” Bruce asks, still feeling a little stunned.

 

Pepper smiles. “Of course, but the board is now patting themselves on the back for their vision and foresight, as though it was all their idea. Which puts them right where we want them when we make our announcement.”

 

Bruce feels as though his world is spinning out of control, although not in a bad way, for once. “I’m not following.”

 

“We can talk about it over dinner,” Pepper replies. “We’ll need to discuss a few things for the meeting tomorrow anyway, and I think Director Fury wants to fill you in on how things stand with the military.”

 

Bruce decides just to go with it. “Sure, okay.”

 

“It might be best to stay in,” Natasha suggests in a low voice. “We haven’t had a chance to vet a restaurant or arrange for security.”

 

“Room service is fine,” Pepper replies. “That might work best right now.”

 

The suite is gorgeous, and Bruce has to actively choose not to think about how much it must cost, because if he thinks about it, he won’t be able to stay.

 

Everything is breakable; everything feels fragile to him.

 

“What do you want to eat?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce shrugs. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

 

“You need to use your words, Brucie,” Tony replies.

 

“I’m not all that hungry,” Bruce admits. He’s too on edge to eat.

 

Tony puts his hands on Bruce’s shoulders, pressing his lips to Bruce’s cheek. “Not hungry?”

 

“On edge,” Bruce replies, knowing that Tony will understand.

 

“I’ll order you a salad, and you can steal food from my plate if you get hungry,” Tony says. “Or we can order more food later. Whatever works.”

 

“Thanks,” Bruce murmurs.

 

Tony kneads his shoulders. “They should be here shortly.”

 

“Yeah,” Bruce says. “I’m okay.”

 

“Need a booster?”

 

“No.”

 

“So, what’s freaking you out the most right now?”

 

Bruce smiles. “Pretty much everything, but mostly the thing with SHIELD.”

 

“This probably goes without saying, but just remember, you’re not in this alone anymore,” Tony says.

 

Bruce actually feels a little of the tension leave him at that. “Thanks.”

 

“Okay, if that’s all it takes to relax you, then I’m clearly doing something wrong,” Tony says, patting his shoulders. “I’m going to call for food.”

 

Bruce tears himself away from the window and chooses a seat where he can still look out. It helps to see the sky.

 

Pepper and Natasha join them after a few minutes. “Director Fury will be joining us shortly.”

 

“Is he expecting to eat? Because I’ve already ordered food,” Tony replies.

 

“What did you order?” Natasha asks suspiciously.

 

Tony smirks at her. “I do my homework, Romanoff. Pepper said you were partial to the club sandwich, and I hear they have a mean one here.”

 

Natasha might actually look vaguely impressed. “With fries?”

 

“Is there any other way to eat it?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce relaxes a little more at the exchange, which feels so normal. It’s just a meeting—with the guy who had been instrumental in saving his life. Who had saved Tony’s life, by all reports. Maybe Bruce has other options now, but he’s still afraid that Fury’s going to decide to throw him back to the wolves.

 

Not that Tony would let Fury do that, but…

 

Bruce rubs his eyes and tries not to think of all the ways this might go wrong.

 

Tony drops down into the seat next to him and puts an arm over Bruce’s shoulders. “Big announcement coming up.”

 

“You sure you want to do that?” Bruce asks in a low voice. “There’s still time to back out.”

 

“Not on your life,” Tony says. “Did you see the board today? They were eating out of your hand. I’m not going to let you go.”

 

Bruce appreciates that response, because it was exactly what he needed to hear.

 

The food comes before Fury does, and once Bruce starts eating, he realizes how hungry he is, and he eats quickly.

 

He catches Pepper looking at him and makes an attempt to slow down. Tony nudges his plate closer to Bruce so that he can steal fries from Tony’s plate, which he does, because he’s way hungrier than he’d thought.

 

Bruce catches Tony’s smirk, and he rolls his eyes.

 

Of course, the food turns to lead in his stomach as soon as he hears the knock on the door. Tony puts a hand on Bruce’s shoulder and squeezes, while Natasha opens the door.

 

The man who enters is larger than life with the eye patch and the all-black ensemble and the long, leather coat. Bruce can feel his shoulders hunch, in spite of Tony’s hand on his back.

 

“Director Fury, Dr. Bruce Banner,” Natasha says.

 

“Dr. Banner, it’s a pleasure,” Fury says. “I’m glad to see you in one piece.”

 

“Glad to be in one piece,” Bruce manages.

 

“I hear you two are making an announcement in a couple of days,” Fury says. “Congratulations. I hope you’ll be very happy together while you’re turning the world upside down.”

 

Tony grins, and it’s all teeth. “Thanks, I’m sure we will.”

 

“Let’s get down to business,” Fury says. “If you’re all finished eating, we can talk about how this is going to work.”

 

Pepper clears her throat. “Director, I think I should interject. As employees of Stark Industries, both Dr. Banner and Captain Rogers are under our protection. Our lawyers are drawing up injunctions to prevent the military, or any other government agency, from infringing upon their civil rights. We have a similar injunction ready to prevent theft of property from Mr. Stark regarding the proprietary technology involved in the Iron Man suit.”

 

Bruce braces himself for an explosion, but Fury just starts laughing. “Oh, I like you, Ms. Potts. Mostly because I like it when people solve my problems for me.”

 

“You don’t want to control the Hulk?” Bruce blurts out before he can think better of the question, relief loosening his tongue.

 

Fury gives him a long look. “I think that’s what the Army attempted to do, and they failed. Quite frankly, Dr. Banner, I don’t have the time or the resources to ‘control’ the Hulk. I won’t lie to you. We have measures in place if you ever become a threat, but that’s our job. If you’re not a threat, then it’s not a problem.”

 

Tony bristles. “He’s no more a threat than I am.”

 

“Precisely,” Fury replies, and that’s not reassuring at all. “Look, what SHIELD is proposing is building a team—or keeping one in reserve, for the really big stuff. We recently had an issue with an alien menace. We’re aware that we might need more firepower.” Fury fixes Bruce with a hard expression. “We might even have need of someone like you.”

 

Bruce quickly puts the pieces together. “You’re collecting us. The Army was trying, but—”

 

“But we’re currently winning?” Fury suggests. “Maybe. The Army continued your experiments with the super soldier serum, Doctor. They were mostly unsuccessful, but I don’t think we can assume that was true in all cases. You’re by far the most reasonable test subject we’ve run across.”

 

Bruce shudders, and Tony nearly snarls. “Don’t.”

 

Fury holds up his hands. “It’s a statement of fact, not a judgment call on my part. You’re right. SHIELD is in competition with the Army for certain resources, but we don’t want open war, and we don’t want to control your daily lives. All SHIELD wants is a promise that when the next alien threat arrives, you’ll be there.”

 

Bruce glances at Tony and shrugs. Fury makes a certain amount of sense, and while Bruce isn’t entirely sure that the Other Guy can be relied upon to target aliens, versus ordinary civilians or whoever else might get in the way, he is also willing to admit that the Other Guy is better than a nuke. And his experience with the Army tells Bruce that’s what they’d be willing to use, no matter what the collateral damage looked like.

 

“We’re in,” Tony replies. “But only because I know SHIELD is going to leave us alone to do our thing. As soon as that changes, we’re out.”

 

Fury smiles. “I don’t believe that. I chose you for the program because I believe that when the world is threatened, you’re going to suit up.”

 

Bruce runs a hand through his hair. “You’re not wrong,” he admits. “But that doesn’t mean I trust you, or SHIELD.”

 

“I’m not asking for your trust, Dr. Banner,” Fury replies. “I know we have to earn that. What I’m asking for is your promise that when the time comes—and I believe it will—you’ll help Stark and the others save the planet.”

 

Bruce chuckles, unable to help himself. “Director Fury, what the hell do you think Tony and I are trying to do right now?”

 

~~~~~

 

“Are you going to be okay with this?” Pepper asks in a low voice, while they wait for Bruce to emerge from the bathroom.

 

At this point, Pepper has known him longer than just about anyone else—other than Rhodey—which is probably why she has some inkling of just how conflicted Tony is about meeting Captain fucking America.

 

Well, Bruce knows, because Tony told him, but then Bruce is similarly torn.

 

“I’m fine with it,” Tony insists. “I’m more worried about Bruce.”

 

“Why?” Pepper asks. “Surely Bruce doesn’t have any objection to helping him.”

 

Tony shakes his head. “No, of course not, he’s a good guy. But think about it, Pep—Rogers takes the serum, he becomes the great American hero. Bruce takes it, and he gets over five years of torture through no fault of his own. I resent the guy, sure, but Bruce has even more reasons to feel like he got a raw deal.”

 

“He did get a raw deal,” Pepper agrees. “And when you put it that way, I can see where he’s coming from. Are you running interference, or should I?”

 

“You handle Rogers if he needs to be handled, and I’ll look after Bruce,” Tony replies. “If we need to leave abruptly, it would be great if you could stay and explain.”

 

Pepper smiles. “It’s a change to have you being the one to be aware of someone else’s emotional needs.”

 

“Well, normally, it’s difficult for me to find someone who’s more fucked up than I am,” Tony admits. “To be honest, it’s kind of nice to be the strong one for a change.”

 

Pepper pats him on the shoulder. “Well, you seem to be doing an excellent job so far.”

 

Bruce emerges from the bathroom, looking marginally more composed. “Hey, sorry about that.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony replies. “Thanks to Pepper, we still have some time.”

 

Bruce runs a hand through his hair. “Great. I guess let’s do this.”

 

Tony keeps a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, hoping that the contact will ground him. “We’re just going to have a meeting, and go out to dinner,” Tony reminds him in a low voice. “Fury promised that the restaurant would have plenty of security, so all we have to do is shake hands, eat dinner, and go back to the hotel, where we’ll have all the privacy we need.”

 

Bruce manages a weak smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

 

They’re meeting Rogers in the lobby, and Tony spots him easily enough, especially since Barton is standing next to him, looking a little more formal than Tony’s used to seeing in slacks and a dress shirt. Rogers looks like someone’s grandfather had dressed him, in pleated khakis, a pressed plaid shirt, and a leather bomber jacket.

 

Natasha is waiting by the elevators, and she falls into step next to Pepper, who strides across the lobby to shake Rogers’ hand. “Captain Rogers, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person,” Pepper says smoothly.

 

“Likewise,” he says. “Agent Barton here says I have you to thank for everything.”

 

“It was our pleasure,” Pepper says sincerely. “The least we could do.”

 

Rogers’ eyes skate over Bruce and land on Tony. “Mr. Stark.”

 

“Captain,” Tony says evenly. “And my friends call me Tony.”

 

Tony doesn’t particularly want to be _friends_ with Captain America, but if he diffuses the tension now, he’ll be able to provide a buffer for Bruce. Besides, Mr. Stark had been Tony’s father, and just having Rogers around is reminder enough of Howard Stark.

 

Rogers looks uncomfortable. “Tony.”

 

Tony realizes with a flash of insight that Rogers is probably just as uncomfortable, since the last he knew, Howard Stark was alive and well, and younger than Tony is now.

 

Actually, now that he thinks about it, _Rogers_ is younger than Tony is, if you don’t count all that time in the ice.

 

“Captain Rogers, this is Dr. Bruce Banner,” Pepper says. “Bruce, Steve Rogers.”

 

From the expression on Rogers’ face, he’s been filled in on Bruce’s condition. “Dr. Banner, it’s a pleasure.”

 

Bruce nods tightly. “Likewise.”

 

Tony squeezes Bruce’s shoulder. “Hey, I’m hungry. What do you say we go eat?”

 

Some indefinable emotion passes across Rogers’ face. “As long as it’s not fondue.”

 

“Hadn’t planned on it,” Tony says with a frown, wondering if he should get that reference.

 

Bruce is tense all through dinner, and when he gets tense, he goes quiet, leaving Tony and the others to carry the conversation. Rogers attempts to draw Bruce out a couple of times, but Tony redirects him, or he lets Pepper or Barton do it. After a couple of tries, Rogers seems to give up, although Bruce doesn’t relax, even if he holds it together.

 

Tony thinks they might actually get through dinner without Bruce losing it when Rogers leans across the table. “Look, Dr. Banner, Agent Barton and Ms. Potts have filled me in on what happened to you, and I’m truly sorry.”

 

Bruce seems to freeze. “It wasn’t your fault.”

 

Rogers, the sincere bastard that he is, isn’t going to leave it there. “No, but the Army used the serum against you, and if I hadn’t volunteered, maybe they wouldn’t have.”

 

He means well, is the thing, sincerity radiating off every word, but Bruce stands abruptly, and Tony thinks he knows what’s setting him off. “Thanks. If you’ll excuse me.”

 

Tony gets up, and Bruce holds up a hand. “I’ve got it,” he mutters and walks away quickly.

 

“What just happened?” Rogers asked, bewildered.

 

And really, Tony wants to snap at him, wants to tell him not to be such a fucking imbecile, but he’d made a similar mistake recently when he’d wanted Bruce to meet Rhodey. “Bruce still has a hair trigger,” Tony replies, unable to believe that he’s actually trying to smooth things over with Captain America. “No offense, Cap, but seeing you is a reminder of all the things that went wrong for him.”

 

Rogers looks crushed. “Oh, right. I hadn’t really thought of it like that. Is there anything I can do?”

 

Pepper speaks up before Tony can tell Rogers to stay the fuck away from Bruce. “I’m sure it’s just going to take Bruce a little time to get used to you,” she says diplomatically. “After everything that’s happened to him, I’m sure you can understand why he doesn’t warm up to strangers very quickly.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Rogers says, still sounding bewildered, and maybe a little shamed, and Tony feels a reluctant sort of sympathy.

 

Tony had been lucky; he had the protection of Stark Industries and his father’s name, and a vast fortune. Rogers has the protection of being an American hero who had been encased in the ice for the last seventy years.  Neither of them had ever been at the mercy of the Army the way Bruce had for any number of reasons.

 

It’s something like survivor’s guilt, Tony thinks, and it’s a shared connection he hadn’t wanted but is forced to accept, since Bruce has put him in the position of being a mediator.

 

“I’m going to go find Bruce,” Tony says. “Look, Cap, don’t worry about it. He’s just unsettled, and he’s never at his best when he’s meeting new people.”

 

“You want me to go with you?” Barton asks. He’s been fairly quiet this evening, but Tony knows that Bruce likes him and trusts him.

 

“I’ll stay here,” Romanoff says. “Dr. Banner’s probably reached his limit for the evening, and you might need an escort back.”

 

Tony wants to deny it, but it’s probably safer, and as keyed up as Bruce likely is, if anything threatens him, he’ll probably go green first and answer questions later.

 

“Thanks,” Tony says. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Cap. Pep?”

 

“I’ve got it,” she says. “I’ll put it on the corporate account..”

 

Tony smiles. “You do that.”

 

He’s hoping to find Bruce in the bathroom, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Tony pulls out his cell phone and says, “Call Bruce.”

 

Barton raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t comment.

 

It rings through to voicemail, and Tony frowns. “Come on, Bruce.”

 

“Let me call the guards outside,” Barton says, some of Tony’s concern reflected on his face.

 

Barton’s earpiece is subtle, so subtle that Tony hadn’t noticed it before, and he says, “Eyes on Banner?” Barton frowns. “What do you mean, you haven’t seen him?”

 

Tony feels a thrill of fear. He should have gone after Bruce immediately, whatever he’d said. “Wait a second, let me call my driver.”

 

A quick call to Happy gives Tony the peace of mind he needs. “Happy took him back to the hotel,” Tony says as soon as he hangs up.

 

Barton scowls. “That doesn’t explain why the guards outside didn’t see him.”

 

“I’ll let you deal with the guards,” Tony replies. “I’m heading back to the hotel. I’ll call a taxi.”

 

“I’ll go with you,” Barton says. “Someone is going to need to read Banner the riot act.”

 

Tony glares at him. “Forget it.”

 

“Ditching his guards is not something he can do, Stark! There’s a reason we have people here,” he grumbles. “But fine, _you_ talk to him. Just remind him that if we have to rescue him again, it could easily mean an injury for someone, and I’m certain he doesn’t want that.”

 

“I’ll talk to him,” Tony promises.

 

“I’m still going with you,” Barton replies. “Bad enough that Banner went back without any guards. Fury is going to have their heads as it is.”

 

Tony knows when he’s on the losing end of an argument, and he acquiesces, although not gracefully. “Fine.”

 

The taxi takes them back to the hotel, and Tony says, “Are you staying here?”

 

“Fury’s shelling out for another room,” Barton admits. “Just in case there’s trouble.”

 

“Let’s hope there isn’t,” Tony replies. “As much as I like the Hulk, I’d hate to see what kind of havoc he could wreak here.”

 

“Give me a call if you have any trouble,” Barton instructs.

 

Tony lets himself into the room, a little surprised to find that there aren’t any lights on. He flicks the light switch and calls, “Bruce?”

 

There’s no immediate answer, and Tony frowns. “Bruce?”

 

“Here.”

 

Tony follows his voice to the bedroom, where Bruce is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, his hands dangling between his knees. “Hey.”

 

“Hey.”

 

“So, Barton wanted to read you the riot act for giving the guards the slip,” Tony begins. “I didn’t tell him this, but I’m impressed. You bypassed the SHIELD agents and got back here without anybody knowing you’d left the restaurant.”

 

Bruce glances up. “I’ll have to apologize. I just—needed to get out.”

 

“Don’t apologize,” Tony orders. “That skill might do you some good one of these days. I just wanted to be certain you were okay.”

 

“I should apologize to Captain Rogers, too,” Bruce says. “That was rude.”

 

Tony sits next to him. “So, how close were you to going green?”

 

“Pretty close,” Bruce admits.

 

“Then Captain Rogers should be thanking you for not smashing him,” Tony replies. “I think he felt bad.”

 

Bruce shrugs. “It’s not his fault, as I said.”

 

Tony puts a hand on Bruce’s knee. “What can I do?”

 

He finally looks up. “I’m okay.”

 

“That’s not what I asked.”

 

Bruce looks at him steadily. “Fuck me.”

 

Tony’s a little surprised at the request. Bruce enjoys being on the receiving end, but he’s admitted that it leaves him feeling a little out of control. Given how the evening has gone so far, he’d assumed that Bruce would want to stay firmly _in_ control.

 

Still, who is he to argue?

 

“Whatever you need,” Tony says sincerely.

 

Bruce looks at him. “I know I’m safe with you.”

 

That’s the highest compliment Bruce can give him, and Tony runs a hand through his hair, cradling the back of Bruce’s head. “Never doubt it.”

 

“Thanks for running interference tonight,” Bruce says. “I know you don’t have a lot of reasons to be fond of Captain Rogers.”

 

“I like you a hell of a lot more than I like him,” Tony replies. “And I don’t think you’ll reach the end of what I’m willing to do for you, even when it involves making nice with Rogers.”

 

Bruce actually smiles at that. “Now I feel special.”

 

“Considering that the big announcement is tomorrow, I’d hope so,” Tony replies, and leans in for a kiss because he can’t help himself.

 

Bruce brings a hand up to cup Tony’s jaw, deepening the kiss with a kind of desperation that draws Tony in, snaring his attention in a way that so few people manage. Tony has been enraptured by engineering projects, artificial intelligences, and car engines—among other things—but rarely by people.

 

Bruce, though, is something else altogether, and Bruce leans back, drawing Tony with him, until they’re stretched out on the bed next to each other. Tony takes the opportunity to work on the buttons of Bruce’s shirt, and then his pants. Bruce pulls Tony’s tie free and pushes his suit jacket off his shoulders.

 

Tony rolls off the bed, deciding that one of them needs to take the lead on this. He toes off his shoes and pulls Bruce’s off, and Bruce lifts his hips to allow Tony to pull his pants off.

 

“I’ve got you,” Tony says as he undresses, watching as Bruce finishes pulling his shirt off. “You’re in good hands.”

 

Bruce smiles faintly. “I wouldn’t have asked you to fuck me if I thought differently.”

 

Tony takes his time, moving slowly and carefully, wanting to see Bruce fall apart in the best possible way. Bruce cries out when Tony finds his prostate, and Tony teases him until Bruce is begging.

 

“Come on already. Tony, _please._ ”

 

“I’ve got you,” Tony promises. “I won’t leave you hanging. I’ve always got your back.”

 

He fucks Bruce slowly and carefully, stretching things out until Bruce’s cock is hard and dripping precome without Tony doing anything other than fucking him. Tony waits until he’s close, until Bruce is incoherent with need, and then he jacks Bruce off, waiting until Bruce has come before he lets go, but only just.

 

When they’ve both begun to recover, Tony grabs a warm washcloth and cleans them both up before climbing into bed with Bruce, pulling the covers over both of them. Bruce rolls to press his forehead against Tony’s shoulder, throwing an arm over his waist. “Thanks.”

 

“I think I should be thanking you,” Tony murmurs. “That was fantastic. _You’re_ fantastic.”

 

“I’m a mess,” he mutters.

 

Tony tugs him closer. “Then we’re on a level playing field, because so am I.”

 

“I don’t want anything to happen to him,” Bruce confesses, his voice muffled against Tony’s skin. “I just—did you _see_ him?”

 

Tony presses a kiss to the top of Bruce’s head. “I saw the giant stick up his ass. And he’s so fucking young. I can’t forgive him for making me feel old.”

 

Bruce laughs, as Tony had hoped. “He is young. I’d like him to stay that way.”

 

“You’re a better man than I am,” Tony says quietly.

 

“No, I’m not,” Bruce replies. “But thanks.”

 

“Go to sleep,” Tony murmurs. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

 

 

~~~~~

 

Bruce had wanted to get through dinner without calling any attention to himself, and he’d failed miserably. Part of it had been his general sense of uneasiness being out in public, knowing there were SHIELD agents all around to try to prevent the Army for making a grab for any of them. Part of it, though, had been Steve Rogers, who is so obviously _nice._

 

There is nothing about Steve Rogers to dislike, and that makes it even harder for Bruce to be around him.

 

Because it’s obvious enough that the serum magnifies the raw materials, and Bruce is wanting.

 

Bruce is always left wanting. He lacks the strength that Rogers so obviously has.

 

He still has Tony, though, and that seems a gift beyond compare.

 

Tony’s fingers move across Bruce’s bare skin, drawing abstract figures on his back and shoulder. “There you are,” Tony murmurs. “I thought you’d sleep forever.”

 

Bruce rolls onto his back and stretches, realizing by the light streaming into the room that it was late morning at least. “What time is it?”

 

“Close to noon,” Tony says. “You slept the night through.”

 

Bruce blinks in the bright light. Tony is right. He hadn’t had a single nightmare, and considering the previous evening, that’s impressive. “You must have tired me out.”

 

“Happy to do it again,” Tony says. “And again, and again—”

 

He probably would have kept going but Bruce smacks him sharply on the stomach—not enough to hurt, but enough to make his point. “Stop it.”

 

Tony laughs. “How are you?”

 

“Good,” Bruce replies honestly, although he’s a little sore. Not sore enough to make him regret their activities, though. “Wait. Shouldn’t the announcement have gone out by now?”

 

“Pepper’s people are handling it,” Tony replies. “We don’t have anything we have to do. We can lay in bed all day if we want.”

 

“We could,” Bruce agrees. “But I doubt you’d be content to do that.”

 

Tony snorts. “Oh, ye of little faith. I guarantee that if you fuck me, that will take up more than a few hours.”

 

Bruce smiles, feeling a little better. “I could, it’s true.”

 

“Only if you’re on board with it,” Tony says.

 

“Oh, I think I can be on board with it,” Bruce replies, intent on doing just that.

 

Eventually, they do get out of bed, mostly because they’re in want of a shower and food, and Bruce is a little curious about how the news is being received.

 

“Just wait until Stark Tower is complete,” Tony says around a mouthful of steak he’d ordered from room service. “Ten floors of R&D. It will be like Candyland.”

 

Bruce smiles. “You don’t have to bribe me, you know.”

 

“Well, the ten floors were for me, but I’m happy to share them with you,” Tony teases. “I’m generous like that.”

 

Bruce rolls his eyes. “Very generous.”

 

“Tell you what, I’ll give you a floor all your own,” Tony offers. “Assuming Pepper agrees, which she will, because she likes you.”

 

“I think I’d rather share with you, actually,” Bruce admits. There might come a day when he’s tired of Tony’s company, but right now it’s still comforting.

 

Bruce is definitely grateful for the chance to work on his own projects, but it’s going to be easier to focus, to avoid flashbacks, if he has a reminder that he’s no longer in the Army’s custody.

 

And Tony being around is a pretty good reminder that he’s safe now.

 

Tony’s smile goes soft. “I’m always happy to share space with you. You want to see what the news is saying about us?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce shrugs. “Sure, why not?”

 

“Too bad Jarvis isn’t here,” Tony says. “I could have him find the most relevant news story immediately.”

 

“Call Pepper, I’ll bet she knows,” Bruce suggests.

 

“I knew you were a genius,” Tony replies, and dials Pepper’s number, putting the phone on speaker and setting it down between them. “Pepper, how’d the announcement go? You’re on speaker.”

 

“Basically, no one knows what to do with the news,” Pepper says, laughter in her voice. “The more progressive news outlets are expressing their wishes for many happy years together, and wondering at length where Bruce came from, and how you two met.”

 

Bruce gives Tony a questioning look. “How did you say we met?”

 

“A science project,” Pepper replies. “It’s close enough to the truth, and it makes perfect sense, given that you basically spend all your time in the lab anyway. I think Fox News said something about you proving that you’re a terrible influence on the youth of America, and Bruce’s projects indicate that he’s some liberal tree-hugger.”

 

Bruce raises his eyebrows. “Well, technically, I _am_ a liberal tree-hugger. I might even be a socialist. I haven’t completely made up my mind yet.”

 

Pepper laughs delightedly. “Oh, please say that on national news. I would love to see the heads explode.”

 

“Wait, how come Bruce can get away with saying that kind of thing and I can’t?” Tony protests.

 

“Because you’re on record as an unrepentant capitalist, and having a partner who’s a liberal, tree-hugging socialist will feed the ‘opposites attract’ story, which people _love_ ,” Pepper replies. “And the fact that you’ve decided to give up your womanizing ways to be with a man, who is just as invested as you are in saving the world, will only help.”

 

“Help what?” Bruce asks.

 

“Grand love stories are protection,” Pepper replies. “Ask Tony about what a public persona will do for you.”

 

Bruce feels a flare of alarm. “I don’t really have a persona.”

 

“You don’t need one,” Tony says. “Trust me, just be yourself, and you’ll be fine. The media will make up all kinds of shit about you, and probably won’t ever come close to the truth.”

 

Bruce frowns. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

 

“Ignore Tony, and ignore the press,” Pepper instructs. “If you have to deal with the press, smile, and say as little as possible.”

 

Bruce rolls his eyes. “Well, that shouldn’t be hard.”

 

“I probably talk enough for the both of us,” Tony admits, with a sly look at Bruce.

 

“No argument here,” Bruce replies.

 

Pepper snorts. “Well, just do what you’re doing now, and you’ll be fine. By the way, Steve said to apologize for whatever he did.”

 

Bruce winces. “Did you explain that it wasn’t him, it was me?”

 

“I said that you had major issues with people in the military, and it had nothing to do with him, yes,” Pepper replies. “I think he understood.”

 

“How much detail did Barton and Romanoff give him?” Bruce asks knowingly.

 

Pepper hums. “It was outside of my hearing, but enough so that he’ll probably treat you with kid gloves from here on out. Apparently, the Army has changed since Steve was in it.”

 

“They were still experimenting on their own people,” Tony points out ruthlessly.

 

“The American government has always done that,” Bruce says wearily. “I was only the most recent in a long string. I doubt I’ll be the last.”

 

“You will be if I have anything to say about it,” Tony insists. “Anything else we need to do today, Pep?”

 

“Today? No. But if you’re up for it, Stark Industries is making an announcement tomorrow about dedicating a portion of our resources for humanitarian missions like Bruce’s water projects,” Pepper replies. “Neither of you have to speak, but Steve is going to be there.”

 

“Why?” Tony asks bluntly.

 

“Because it makes a point, Tony,” Pepper says impatiently. “You said that you thought SHIELD was collecting people with extraordinary abilities so they could make a stand against the Army.”

 

Tony gets it before Bruce does, probably because he has more experience dealing with the press and media relations. “This says that Stark Industries will act as a shield for those people, pun intended,” Tony supplies.

 

“Pretty much,” Pepper agrees. “Steve thinks he might want to work for SHIELD, and that might be for the best, but that still makes this more of an alliance of equals.”

 

Bruce throws Tony a questioning look, and Tony mouths, “Later.”

 

“We’ll be there, Pepper,” Tony promises. “At least I will be. If it looks like Bruce is feeling green, I imagine he’ll skip it.”

 

“That’s fine,” she replies. “We’ll still need to talk to the architects on Friday if you were serious about reinforcing the Tower to withstand any mishaps.”

 

“Thanks, Pepper,” Tony replies. “Text me the details, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

Bruce echoes the sentiment, and when Tony hangs up, he says, “What did she mean?”

 

“What did she mean about what?”

 

Bruce thinks about what he wants to know first, and decides that reconfiguring the Tower to withstand the Other Guy is a no-brainer. “The alliance of equals.”

 

“Look, I have no problem putting on the suit and saving the world,” Tony replies. “Fury was right about that much. I’m kind of fond of the world. I’m sure you are, too.”

 

“Getting there,” Bruce admits.

 

“But I won’t be a pawn in someone else’s chess game,” Tony continues. “I’ll back Fury because, God help me, I kind of trust the guy. At least, I trust that he would rather let us do what we had every intention of doing in the first place, and won’t try to control us in between times.”

 

Bruce nods slowly, because Tony makes a good point. Fury hasn’t attempted to control him or the Hulk. Quite the opposite, in fact. “What about Rogers?”

 

“What about him?” Tony asks. “Barton and Romanoff are still working for Fury, and I’m not going to try to poach them. I couldn’t keep them busy. Hell, I’m pretty sure I can’t keep Rogers busy, because the guy doesn’t remember the last 70 years and he just came out of a war zone. You do the math.”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “Sorry, you lost me.”

 

“How much time have we spent in the lab or the workshop over the last month or two?”

 

“Pretty much all our time, unless you were—” Bruce stops. Unless Tony was forcing him to relax, and even then it had been a challenge. It’s only been in the last couple of weeks, knowing that Tony was going public, that he was granting Bruce an equal share in his life, that Bruce has felt safe enough to let his guard down on other occasions.

 

And even then, he’s not always successful.

 

“You and Rogers have a lot in common in a sense,” Tony admits. “That doesn’t mean you should be, or even can be, friends. It just means that you’re both coming out of a fucking awful situation, and you’ve got me and the lab, and saving the world. I imagine that Rogers will opt for the battlefield.”

 

Bruce stares at him. “You’re really nothing like they say, you know?”

 

Tony glances away, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

“You’re not shallow,” Bruce says. “You’re no playboy.”

 

“I’ll have you know—”

 

“You said that you hadn’t slept with anyone since Afghanistan,” Bruce insists. “You didn’t trust them.”

 

Tony grows very still. “I don’t. I didn’t.”

 

“People think of you as being one way, and you let them, because it’s easier,” Bruce continues. “That’s one of the reasons you came out as Iron Man, because it was just another mask to hide behind.”

 

Tony is quiet for a long moment. “That’s one way to look at it.”

 

“But the reality is that you _are_ Iron Man. That’s who you’ve always been. It’s a trick; people think they’re seeing a mask and yet they’re actually seeing you.”

 

Bruce feels almost breathless, the way he feels before he’s made any notable scientific discovery. The pieces are falling into place, and he sees Tony Stark, and he’s more intriguing, more beautiful than any equation.

 

Tony’s gaze sharpens. “How do you do that?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“See me?”

 

Bruce shrugs. “I’ve been following your exploits for years.”

 

“And?”

 

“The real thing is better, even though I never could have guessed that,” Bruce admits. “Besides, you saw me first.”

 

Tony pulls him close. “Best day of my life so far, Bruce. Best fucking day of my life.”

 

~~~~~

 

Tony’s grateful when Bruce seems to be on an even keel the next day, and he seems ready to go before the press conference starts.

 

“You need a booster?” Tony asks before they leave.

 

Bruce hesitates. “Might not be a bad idea. I’m not sure how I’m going to do with that many people.”

 

“I’ll take care of you,” Tony promises and brings out the hypo.

 

So, Bruce is fairly calm when they go to the press conference, and Happy is the one driving them, which makes Tony feel a little better.

 

The press conference is being held in front of Stark Industries’ New York offices, which will eventually be moved to Stark Tower, once that’s complete. Pepper and Natasha are there when they arrive, speaking to various members of the board, and Rogers is hanging back, like he doesn’t know what to do.

 

Rogers starts to approach them, and then stops, like he’s not sure about his welcome.

 

Tony watches as Bruce squares his shoulders, and holds out a hand to Rogers to shake. “Sorry about the other night.”

 

A relieved look crosses Rogers’ face. “I know you’ve had a rough time of it, Dr. Banner. Let’s just forget about it.”

 

“Done,” Bruce says, and manages a smile that almost looks sincere. “Thanks.”

 

“I’m not entirely clear what this is for,” Rogers admits.

 

Tony shrugs. “It’s a show of strength, and a reminder to the Army that they’re dealing with real people, with real resources.”

 

“We’re also presenting a united front,” Bruce says quietly. “It’s important that they think we stand together.”

 

Rogers looks bemused. “Don’t we?”

 

Tony glances over at Bruce, who shrugs. “I guess we do,” Tony says.

 

“It’s safer if we’re together,” Bruce agrees.

 

“We’re ready,” Pepper says as she approaches them. “Tony, please stick to the script this time.”

 

Tony smirks. “But it’s so much more fun when I do things my way.”

 

“Your way painted a giant target on your chest,” Bruce points out.

 

“No regrets,” Tony replies. “But you have a point. I’ll behave.”

 

Pepper hands him his notecards. “I’ll speak first, then Tony. Steve, Bruce, you’re exempt.”

 

“That’s a relief,” Bruce mutters, and Steve looks equally relieved.

 

Pepper makes the announcement of the new division, and Tony pretty much tunes her out, since he knows it all already.

 

“And now, Mr. Stark will discuss the direction of our new division,” Pepper says, and throws him a warning look.

 

He takes the podium. “Nice to see all of you again. Or for the first time.”

 

Pepper clears her throat, and Tony starts reading off the cards. “As you all know, my experience in Afghanistan changed me, and as a result, I chose a new direction for Stark Industries. We’re revolutionizing clean energy, and now we’re working on ensuring that everyone in the world has clean drinking water, and on ending famines, preventing malaria, and generally saving the world. I’ve put Dr. Bruce Banner in charge of our new special projects division because he has a first rate mind, and his commitment to improving the lives of people all over the world rivals mine. I hope you’re as excited as I am to see what Stark Industries does in the future.”

 

The questions come as a wall of sound, and Tony stands there letting it wash over him. When it starts to die down, Tony points at one of the reporters, one he doesn’t know.

 

“What happened to make you finally settle down with someone?” she calls out.

 

“I met someone I could spend days with and never get sick of his company,” Tony replies. “And that pretty much never happens. Also, he’s brilliant, and easy on the eyes, pretty much the total package.”

 

Tony glances over his shoulder to see Bruce turning bright red, and he grins at him.

 

“There are rumors that the Army is trying to take over your suit. Is that true?” someone else calls.

 

“The suit and I are one, and I don’t think the Army wants to deal with the army of lawyers Stark Industries will send after them if they try to take it through extralegal means,” Tony replies.

 

He’s probably daring the Army to come after him at this point, but he doesn’t care. If they’re focusing on him, they might leave Bruce alone.

 

There are a few more questions that are more on point, and one question about who bottoms, which Tony responds to by saying, “We flip a coin.”

 

“That’s the last question,” Pepper says. “Thank you all for coming.”

 

“Seriously?” Bruce mutters as they head into the building.

 

“It’s all true,” Tony replies. “Well, other than the flipping a coin part, but nobody expected me to give an honest answer to that one.”

 

Bruce rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe you answered it at all.”

 

“What? It’s a great sound bite,” Tony replies.

 

“I still can’t believe you said it!” Bruce says, and glances over his shoulder. “Captain Rogers? Are you coming with us?”

 

Rogers shrugs. “I don’t have anywhere else I need to be.”

 

“Great, we’ll have a drink and toast to the future of Stark Industries and completely fucking over the Army,” Tony says, heading for the elevators. “No offense, Cap, because I’m pretty sure they just got douchier over the last 70 years.”

 

Rogers’ face looks like he’d just sucked on a lemon. “Thanks, I think.”

 

Barton, Romanoff, and Coulson run inside, herding Pepper along with them, and Coulson yells, “Get away from the elevators!”

 

“Stairs, now!” Barton adds, and tosses something at Rogers—his shield.

 

“What’s going on?” Rogers demands, although he starts moving in that direction, putting himself between the elevators and Bruce, his shield raised.

 

Coulson’s standing by the door to the stairwell. “We have a small problem, but we need to get you under cover.”

 

The elevator doors open, and Tony sees four guys in Kevlar when he glances over his shoulder to check their progress.

 

“You should leave me,” Bruce says, stopping cold, and Tony suddenly understands.

 

They’ve just given a press conference on how Stark Industries is moving in a new direction to rebuild the world, and there are still plenty of reporters outside. All the Army has to do is trigger a transformation. Even if the Hulk doesn’t kill anybody, there’s going to be a ton of property damage, and the Army will be able to make the case that Bruce is too dangerous to be let go free.

 

“Not gonna happen,” Tony says, pushing him into the stairwell.

 

“I’m not going to be able to hold back if they grab me,” Bruce protests as the door slams shut behind Rogers.

 

Tony can hear footsteps on the stairs ahead of them, and the distinctive click of heels, and he knows that Romanoff will look after Pepper.

 

Coulson’s motioning Bruce to go ahead of him. “We’re not going to let anything happen to you, Dr. Banner.”

 

“But I won’t be able to hold him back!” Bruce shouts, and Tony knows he’s seconds from letting the Other Guy out.

 

“Bruce,” Tony snaps. “Look at me. _That’s what they want_. They have to go through us to get to you, and they want an excuse, so hold it together.”

 

Tony sees Bruce’s eyes widen as he gets it, and he curses. “Tony—”

 

Tony pulls a hypo from his pocket. “Let us handle it, okay? Right now, we need you, and not the Hulk.”

 

Bruce nods, and Tony presses the hypo against his neck as he starts to hustle him up the stairs. Tony doesn’t think the medication will actually hold back the Other Guy, but it might give Bruce the space he needs to get things under control for now.

 

“Rogers!” Barton shouts behind them.

 

“I’ve got this!” he replies. “Get Dr. Banner somewhere safe.”

 

“Exit on the fourth floor,” Coulson says. “Romanoff says she’s found a defensible location.”

 

“What about Rogers?” Bruce asks.

 

Barton speaks up from behind him. “He’s got our backs, but it’s not going to mean much if we can’t hold out until reinforcements arrive.”

 

“How many people are we talking here?” Tony demands.

 

“Enough to keep Romanoff and Rogers busy until SHIELD sends more backup,” Coulson says tersely. “But I wouldn’t bet against them.”

 

Tony’s breathing heavily by the time they exit onto the fourth floor, and he immediately spots four guys in black on the floor, unconscious. “I guess it’s a good thing this is a Saturday,” Tony comments.

 

“It makes it a little easier to remove civilians from the area,” Coulson agrees.

 

The “defensible position” that Romanoff had secured is actually the women’s bathroom on the fourth floor, which makes sense, since it has one entrance with a lock on it, and he’s pretty sure that the Army probably thinks that no one would be stupid enough to lock themselves in a small, windowless room with the Hulk.

 

“This is a really bad idea,” Bruce says when Coulson shuts the door behind them. “Maybe I should hide somewhere else.”

 

Coulson and Romanoff stand on either side of the door, while Pepper is sitting on the floor, away from the door and the line of fire.

 

“Where’s Barton?” Tony asks.

 

“He’s going to start picking them off,” Romanoff replies. “Sir?”

 

“Go,” Coulson says after a moment with his ear pressed to the door. “They’ll have to go floor by floor to find him, so let’s make sure it takes them a while.”

 

Romanoff slips out, and Coulson bolts it shut. “Listen to me, Dr. Banner,” he says, turning to face Bruce. “We’re in a densely populated area, and I’m fairly sure that the Hulk is going to want to smash things if he turns up. Am I right?”

 

Bruce nods, his jaw tense.

 

“That means a high possibility of civilian casualties, something you’d like to avoid, as would SHIELD,” Coulson points out. “What that also means is that the Army is risking the lives of innocent people to score some points, and that’s what’s going to break their hold on you. This is a last ditch effort, and we’re going to make sure it fails.”

 

Tony wishes he had his armor, and he really needs to work on a better way to get it to find him, or maybe even control it with his brain. He’d like to be one of the people out there taking down soldiers.

 

Then again, Bruce might need him more here.

 

“Hey, come on, let’s sit,” Tony says, steering him over to where Pepper is sitting. “Pep? You okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” she says gamely, although her voice shakes a little. “There were more than a few SUVs pulling up outside.”

 

“Our people should be here soon,” Coulson says. “SHIELD’s New York headquarters isn’t far away, and my team is the best.”

 

Bruce puts his face in his hands, and Tony rests his hand on Bruce’s back, rubbing soothing circles. “They shouldn’t be risking their lives for me.”

 

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Tony says in a low voice meant for Bruce’s ears alone, although Pepper’s close enough that she can probably hear him. “That’s exactly why we agreed to Fury’s deal, remember? They watch our backs, and we watch theirs.”

 

“I don’t see how this is watching their backs,” he complains.

 

“If the Army can control one of us, they can come after all of us,” Tony reminds him. He nearly points out that if the Army gets their hands on Bruce again, he doesn’t think they’ll wait long before they do exactly what Kimball threatened to do. He stops himself at the last minute, though, because Bruce doesn’t need another reason to freak out.

 

It galls him to be here, holed up in a bathroom and dependent on others for his safety, but in this case, he sees the necessity, because he doesn’t have ready access to the suit, and there’s probably no way that Bruce would stay behind if Tony is putting himself in danger.

 

And their entire plan depends on Bruce staying calm, cool, and collected.

 

“Say again,” Coulson orders, and his posture loses some of its tension. “Okay, it looks like Romanoff and Rogers took out the soldiers in the building, and they’re both in one piece. They’re going to prevent anybody else from coming in, and Barton will make sure no one joins us. SHIELD is cleaning up the mess outside.”

 

Pepper lets out an audible sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

 

Bruce is shaking under Tony’s hand, probably a reaction from the adrenalin and the sedative combined, or maybe he had been just that close to completely losing control.

 

“We’re okay,” Tony says, wrapping an arm around Bruce. “See? We’re okay.”

 

Bruce leans into Tony and doesn’t reply.

 

~~~~~

 

All in all, they spend an hour and a half in the bathroom, which isn’t great, but Bruce has been in worse places. It’s at least clean, and no one tries to break down the door.

 

And he hadn’t had an incident, and there had been an entire team of people who had put themselves between Bruce and the Army.

 

That’s the part that Bruce still can’t quite believe.

 

“This isn’t going to happen again,” Fury rumbles.

 

They’re in one of the conference rooms in the Stark Industries offices, and Fury is living up to his name.

 

“And how are you going to prevent it?” Tony demands.

 

“I’m going to have a meeting with the President and the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and I’m going to impress upon them exactly how foolish it was to risk the lives of civilians to make a fucking point,” Fury says in a muted roar. “But well done, Banner. If the Hulk had made an appearance, this would be a very different conversation.”

 

Bruce shrugs. “Thanks for keeping your promise.”

 

Fury waves off his gratitude. “That’s what we’re here for. I’m sure you want to get out of here, so go.”

 

Bruce is relieved to get out of there, and he pauses on the way out to thank Rogers, Natasha and Barton again, and then they’re in the elevator.

 

“What do you want to do?” Tony asks. “Name it, and the sky’s the limit.”

 

“Can we go home?” Bruce asks plaintively. “I just really want to go home.”

 

Tony smiles, looking at Bruce in a way that seems impossibly fond. “Yeah, of course, Big Guy. I’ll call for the jet, we’ll grab our things from the hotel, and we’ll be back there tonight.”

 

Bruce runs a hand through his hair. “Thanks.”

 

“Hey, no,” Tony says, pulling him close. “I’m ready to go home, too.”

 

Tony is as good as his word. Happy takes them to the hotel, and then waits while they pack, which takes a few minutes, since they just throw their things into their bags. By the time they arrive at the airport, the jet is ready to go, which Bruce figures just goes to show what billions of dollars buys you. At one point, Bruce probably would have resented it, but he’s grateful for it now.

 

Tony’s money has bought Bruce protection and safety, and he’s happy to take advantage of that fact.

 

They gain three hours going west, so the sun is just setting when the jet lands, and there’s a town car waiting for them. “The things that money buys,” Bruce murmurs with a weary smile.

 

“And it’s all at your disposal,” Tony replies expansively. “You just have to name it.”

 

“Honestly? I just want a bed,” Bruce admits. “And maybe some food.”

 

Tony taps the intercom. “Hey, can we stop somewhere for burgers? In-N-Out is good.”

 

“I know you like Burger King better,” Bruce says.

 

“Shut up,” Tony orders. “You had a trying day, you deserve your favorite burger place.”

 

Bruce doesn’t try to argue with him, mostly because he really, really wants that burger. “And fries.”

 

“What do you take me for?” Tony asks. “Of course, fries. Like that was ever a question.”

 

Bruce is half-asleep by the time the car pulls up in front of Tony’s mansion. He’s crashing hard and fast, especially now that his stomach is full, and he feels safe. Maybe he’s delusional, and he’s sure the Army could still come after him here, but somehow, he doesn’t think they will.

 

They tried in New York, and Bruce had maintained control, and there were people who had his back, and he’s okay.

 

For the first time in a long time, Bruce thinks that tomorrow might be better, and that every day might be better than the last.

 

He summons enough energy to get to the bedroom, and drops his bag just inside the door, beginning to strip off his clothing.

 

“You realize what today means,” Tony says, doing the same thing.

 

Bruce grunts a question, too tired to do anything else.

 

“You’ve got control, Bruce. You can use the Hulk,” Tony replies.

 

Bruce collapses onto the bed. “No, I had control because you were there, and there were people to watch our backs. I wouldn’t have managed it if you’d been threatened or if they’d laid hands on me.”

 

Tony sits down on the bed next to him. “Granted, but they would have deserved everything they got. The point is that you held it together. _You did that._ ”

 

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Bruce replies quietly.

 

Tony smirks at him. “Probably not.”

 

Bruce sits up far enough to hook an arm around Tony and pull him down to the mattress. “Thanks.”

 

“This world of ours is fucked up,” Tony says quietly, flopping onto his back and pulling Bruce with him. “I figure we do what we can to make it less fucked.”

 

“Yeah,” Bruce says quietly. “I guess we make the world we want from here on out.”

 

Tony presses his lips to Bruce’s head. “They’ll be eating out of our hands in no time.”

 

And Bruce smiles, because for the first time, he believes that Tony might be right.

 

**Epilogue**

 

“Where are we at?” Bruce asks.

 

“Nearly ready for decoupling,” Tony says. “One more second.”

 

Bruce glances over at Pepper, who looks completely relaxed in shorts and a white shirt. He thinks it might be an indicator as to just how much time they’ve spent together recently, getting the Tower ready to run on arc reactor technology.

 

“There we go,” Tony says.

 

The lights go out, and then come back on again with barely a hiccup, and Bruce grins at Pepper, who throws her arms around his neck. “Well done, Dr. Banner,” she says.

 

“I think it was mostly Tony,” he counters.

 

She punches him in the arm. “And the additional three years we’re supposed to get out of it? And the cost-effective desalinator that may solve California’s drought problem, and—”

 

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Enough! It’s been a good year.”

 

She looks smug. “It’s been an excellent year.”

 

Tony lands on the roof a minute later, the suit coming off in pieces. “Bruce! We are in business.”

 

“You’re going to have people beating down your door to get their own arc reactor,” Bruce says.

 

Tony grabs him and gives him a heated kiss. “True. I’m thinking a sliding fee scale.”

 

“I think you’re insane,” Bruce replies, but he says it so often that the words are more an expression of affection these days. “This is amazing work, Tony.”

 

Tony grins smugly. “I know. Pepper? Do we have champagne?”

 

“What do you take me for?” Pepper asks. “Of course we do.”

 

Bruce still doesn’t drink much, but he raises a glass with Tony and Pepper. The best thing about the Tower is the security, he thinks. The Army hasn’t made another play to take custody of him, but Bruce is always aware that they might change their minds.

 

But the Tower is yet another place he feels secure, which brings the total up to two locations. Not bad for a year, really.

 

“This is an amazing accomplishment, you guys,” Pepper says. “Congratulations.”

 

“At least part of it is you,” Tony replies magnanimously.

 

She smiles. “Oh, really?”

 

“Yeah, like 12-percent of it,” Tony says.

 

Bruce hides a smile behind his hand, knowing just how hard Pepper had worked on the building, and all of the details that had gone into it.

 

“Oh, is that all?” she asks. “You remember all those times you shoved work off on me so you could do science with your boyfriend? I’m thinking maybe I should take some of that time back.”

 

Tony winces. “Okay, so maybe that was hasty.”

 

“You think?” she asks.

 

Tony’s cell phone rings, and he pulls it out of his pocket. “Okay, I like Agent Coulson and all, but we’re having a moment here.”

 

“I was having 12-percent of a moment,” Pepper says. “Give me the phone.”

 

“You’ll invite him up!”

 

“Of course I’m going to invite him up!” she says. “He can have a glass of champagne with us.”

 

Tony rolls his eyes, but he hands his phone over. “But only because I like you, and not your boyfriend.”

 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Pepper says automatically.

 

“Friends with benefits,” Tony mutters in Bruce’s ear.

 

Bruce can see the attraction, since Pepper is a very busy woman with a very busy schedule, and Phil Coulson is in the same position. If they spend time together when they’re both in the same city for more than an hour or two? It makes perfect sense.

 

“Hi, Phil,” Pepper says warmly. “Come on up, although be warned. Tony’s being difficult.”

 

The elevator doors slide open. “When is he not?” Coulson asks. “Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner, pleasure to see you both.”

 

“I don’t like this,” Tony says. “You have business face.”

 

Coulson hands his package to Bruce, used to Tony’s dislike for having things handed to him at this point. “I’m afraid so. We’re going to need both of you.”

 

Bruce quickly opens the tablet and sends the information up onto the info boards. “You mean you need the Other Guy?”

 

“No, I mean we need _you_ ,” Coulson replies. “You’re the expert in gamma radiation, doc, and we need that expertise.”

 

“What about me?” Tony demands.

 

Coulson shrugs. “See for yourself, but I think there’s plenty of room for Iron Man on the team. And—Barton’s been compromised.”

 

Bruce squares his shoulders. That’s all he really needed to hear. “I’m on board.”

 

“You’re not leaving me behind,” Tony says. “We made a promise.”

 

“Thank you,” Coulson says, his relief showing. “I’ll make sure you have a ride once you’re caught up. Just give me a call.”

 

Pepper takes his arm and they head back toward the elevator. “I have a trip to D.C.,” she says. “Maybe I can give you a ride on my way.”

 

When the elevator closes behind them, Tony looks at Bruce. “So? You ready for this?”

 

“I owe Barton,” Bruce admits. “And we did promise, so yeah. I’m ready.”

 

And then Tony kisses him hard, and it’s a promise and a reminder. No matter what happens, they’re in this together, and that makes all the difference.


End file.
